Lost and Found
by amyblair
Summary: Dean and Sam are in the South Dakota Badlands in the middle of a blizzard after a job that has gone bad. They have crashed the Impala swerving to hit what they thought was an animal but find that they have inadvertently killed a creature haunting a small
1. Chapter 1

What was that

**Lost and Found**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, getting nothing from it but enjoyment!

**Setting**: Story is set after Jus In Bello, a bit over three months to go before Dean has to pay his debt.

**Summary**: Dean and Sam are in the South Dakota Badlands in the middle of a blizzard after a job that has gone bad. They have crashed the Impala swerving to hit what they thought was an animal but find that they have inadvertently killed a creature haunting a small village. And it wasn't alone. Together, the brothers must mend wounds on the surface and underneath and try to save a village from a mystical soul stealer.

**A/N**: Ah, the Summer of reruns has arrived and, although I will enjoy them, I'm looking forward to reading about Sam and Dean in the world of facfic! This is my second fanfiction. I have wrote the entire story already and will post the chapters every couple of days. Let me know what you think! Reviews appreciated!

**Accidents Will Happen**

There was barely any blood, none that he could see anyway. It was dark, everywhere. Dean placed his hand up to his brother's chest and waited. There hadn't been a drop of blood since they took off, but there was something more disturbing. Air. Air escaping from the puncture wound leading from his brother's lungs.

_Goddammit_.

Dean looked ahead, his eyes on the icy roads of South Dakota, winding up and down the back paths of the black hills. The snow had started long before their job had finished and it continued to fall fast. A pack of vampires, five strong, fierce and bloody - and now dead - the last one piercing Sam with a wooden stake before Dean could get there on time. He missed it. He didn't see him grab the post, hiding it against him. He should have, they had him cornered, confused, the lone wolf on the prowl, he should have noticed he was holding his arm so close to him, he should have known... but he didn't until it was out of his hands plummeting across the short distance directly at Sam.

The snow had fallen so quickly that Dean had to blink twice when he exited the cave with his injured brother dangling from his arms. The landscape had altered so much in such a short period of time that he hardly recognize the area. Snow and darkness – and now ice. Not a good combination. Dragging Sam through the snow and getting him into the Impala was one thing, clearing the snow from the car and starting the journey out of the cavern was a different story. It was an uphill climb and the Chevy did not want to make that ride, sliding and slipping all the way up, Dean quietly strumming his gloved hands on the wheel, chanting under his breath. _Come on, come on, come on_. He didn't know why he was even chanting, praying even, except to get further away from what remained of the bloodsuckers' charred bodies. Once they were out of the cavern, it dawned on him that they had nowhere to go. They were in the middle of nothing. Taking the hunt on, Sam had warned Dean this area was so isolated, barely any people inhabited the area. They had been there before, twice, when they were growing up with their father. It was a popular area for evil. Without a lot of people living around them, John had told them, evil had a way of inhabiting to lifestyles accustomed to their needs. Out here they were virtually alone with nature, able to make nests and grow stronger. Learn things, listen, plan. Once Dean made it out of the cavern, he found he wasn't any better off. Still in the middle of nowhere with the darkness ahead of them and a brother in trouble. Big time trouble.

The older Winchester tried his best to control the Impala as they twisted around the bends in the aged road. It was a slow moving process, the ice mostly guiding the car, Dean trying his best to keep them from landing in a ditch. The snow was still tumbling down upon them in slanting strokes, making it feel as though he were driving through a cinematic tunnel featuring a Pink Floyd laser light show. The ice pelted the windshield, the wipers slapping as fast as possible to keep a small hole visible as he peered ahead.

_Not good_. He shook his head, trying to focus. _Snap out of it. Help_. He needed help.

"Help," it was almost as if he hadn't spoken it, but had breathed it. Dean's eyes darted to his brother's slumped form next to him. "Dean… I… hard to breathe."

Dean swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I know, Sammy, I know," he tried to ignore the way his voice sounded weak, "you're doing a good job."

Sam licked his lips and his eyes opened in slits, seeing the snow bombard the car frantically. "Blizzard," he mumbled.

Dean chuckled, trying to mask his nerves. "No, just a little snow shower. I've got it under control, little brother." Dean's leather gloves clumped on the steering wheel rapidly, his fingers tapping, keeping time with his own heartbeat. He looked down the road as best as he could wishing for what he wasn't seeing - no lights, no signs, nothing but black. He had studied the maps prior to leaving the hotel, they had walked the area before the job, he knew they were hours away from real civilization. From hope.

Sam released a horrible wet cough followed by a moment of dry heaves. He could feel his level of consciousness starting to fleet away from him. He closed his eyes tight and tried to open them wide, finding it near impossible to focus on anything. He shut his eyes again, willing his mind to keep him alert behind his heavy lids. He could feel the car jostling all over the road, finding it hard to keep himself from sliding back and forth on the leather. Sam took in a breath, it hurt, sharp stinging pain up his left side, aching down to his core, his cellular level. He was starving for oxygen. A sudden flash of Dean occurred just beyond the darkness of his sight, seeing his body breakdown, bleed in front of him again and again. He couldn't erase the Hell he had been through, watching Dean die, come back to him and then watching him die again. _No matter what you do, you can't save your brother. Sometimes you've just got to let people go_. He shook his head, he didn't believe that. He couldn't believe that. The Impala swerved sharply and Sam hissed at the pain it caused him, opening his eyes again. His body settled into the seat of the car, his breaths coming shallow and short. He tucked his head down, almost laying half way across the seat, his hair whisking against Dean's jacket. He lifted heavy eyes to his brother. "Can't… breathe," he reminded him, as though Dean had forgotten.

Dean's heart skipped this time and landed in his toes. For a brief second he could feel his own breath leave his body and then rush back in to fill his lungs. He felt a sudden force of strength muster from below him and he reached down, grabbing Sam's hand. He pressed it to his own chest. "You _are_ breathing, Sam. Breathe like me, breathe like me. Got it? In. Out." He waited a moment. "In. Out."

Sam gasped. And then gasped again. He was breathing with Dean, just with horrendous gasps that shook Dean every time they occurred. "That's it, Sam," his voice trembling a bit, "In and out. Like me."

_What the fuck! Fucking Vampires! No more, no more vampires! _

The Impala gave a sudden jolt and Dean let go of Sam's had to steady the wheel. Not having the strength, Sam's hand immediately fell from Dean's chest and landed limply across the leather seat. Dean grasped control of the car as best as he could and looked down to where Sam's hand had fallen. He began to let go of the wheel to retrieve it when something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. _What the hell is that?_ He looked out the driver side window and noticed what seemed to be lights coming down the mountainous hills off to the left. They were moving sporadically fumbling along the tree lines, one moving much faster than the others. Dean strained his eyes against the nature outside to make out what it was but they were moving too fast, he was driving too rough and his eyes couldn't make out a resemblance that made sense to him. One thing for sure, they were coming down as quickly as they could and headed right towards the road – and the car. Dean let his foot off the gas pedal for a second, trying to decipher what could be making those patterns. His eyes flashed swiftly from the dim road, back up the hill. The car bounced along the snow, skidding to the left and right against the ice, Dean maneuvering down the center of the road semi thankful that there was no cars coming in the opposite direction.

Sam groaned next to him, his head weighing heavily next to his older brother's arm. Dean glanced down at Sam watching as his body jumped with the movements from the car, his hand reaching across his stomach and resting against his chest wall. He gasped once and his eyes suddenly flew wide open.

"Sam!" Dean called out to him.

No answer.

Dean's right hand drifted down in an attempt to push Sam off of his side but Sam only drifted further against him, almost landing in his lap. "Sam!" Dean looked ahead and back down again at his brother. "Sam, breathe with me! Breathe with me!"

A dash of a black figure emerged from the periphery of Dean's left eye and his head snapped up to greet it. Instinctly he slammed on to the brakes, the Impala rupturing in a wild fish tail, the back end trying to keep up with the happenings with the front end. Dean felt Sam slide forward from his lap, landing somewhere between the seat and the front dash. The Chevy surged full speed ahead on the icy road with the sounds of crunching snow, brakes squealing as though they were a locomotive attempting to stop on cement. The dark figure flew in front of the grill of the car, colliding with a hideous splat that sent Dean's heart into his throat. From the limited view out of the windshield it appeared to be the size of a child, maybe twelve or so, he wasn't sure. The steering wheel flew circles around the palms of his hands as the Impala spun out and headed down the side of the embankment. All of Dean's weight was pressed on the brake pads, trying to rest his baby as it rolled passed branches, limbs and brush and finally settled to a deafening stop after smacking into the large trunk of a tree.

Dean's body propelled from the leather seats and forcefully landed in his steering column, his arms hanging loosely at his side, his forehead striking the wheel. He raised his head and felt an instant warmth of wetness roll down from his temple to his cheek. He could hear the sounds of the tires as they spun slower and slower until they finally stopped and then the horrible sound of the Impala's engine hissing as he realized he had crashed the car. He looked down into the seat and felt immediate relief swim over him noticing Sam was clamoring from the floor board, the impact almost waking him back to life. He looked at Dean with large, confused eyes, grabbing the door handle to crawl up onto the seat.

Dean blinked. "You okay?"

Sam couldn't answer.

Dean looked out the front window. "Jesus. I killed the car." And as if it didn't register the first time he said it, his voice jumped up an octave. "I killed the fucking car!"

Sam turned his body around and nestled his shoulders into the hugging seat of the Impala, pressing his throbbing head against the cold window. He took in a couple a shallow breaths, exhaling through his mouth. The pain in his chest was starting to spread, burn throughout his thoracic cavity and he could feel a quicken in his stomach. "Think I'm gonna throw up."

But Dean didn't hear him. His mind was still racing. The snow was beating down on top of them and the car was smashed. He wiped at the inside of the windshield and peered out of the small opening. His eyes immediately focused on the hood, jutting up in a tent of metal, smoke oozing out almost dissipating upon contact with the cold air. He closed his eyes for a moment. _It's not that bad, it's not that bad_. He shook his head on the cold steering wheel for a few seconds and then looked back out the front window. The dim glow from the headlights had cast an odd shadow on the tree that he had unfortunately hit. Dean cocked his head, it wasn't so much a shadow as a figure that was slowly emerging in front of him. It was dark in color, covered in a short fur, the body looking almost like a fox, but the head… the head had human features. It's eyes were almond shaped, small with sweet fuzzy eyebrows above them, it's cheekbones were chiseled with a taught chin. Skin, white skin. But it's pointy ears and voracious mouth were most definitely an animal. The teeth were long, jagged ending sharp and uneven. Dean grimaced in disgust mainly because upon pinning the creature between the grill of the car and the tree trunk, the metal had acted as a sword, decapitating the being. It's head bobbed by a few strands of muscles and hair, staring at Dean through the small opening of glass, almost teasing him to come out and stroke it, just to be sure it was dead.

"Dean." Sam's voice broke into the silence of the car, quiet and strained.

Dean narrowed his eyes on the figure in front of him, mesmerized at the oddity. They had hunted so many bizarre creatures that it was almost amusing to him that out here in the middle of nowhere, they would encounter something like never before. Something that bewildered and awed him. But then he remembered _where_ they were. In the middle of nowhere, where his father had warned them long ago wicked things liked to roam. He let out a long sigh, not noticing he had been holding his breath and the cold air mirrored it back to him. The temperature was dropping fast without the small comfort of the Chevy's heater running.

"Dean." This time Sam's voice was more pressing, more commanding, controlled with a hint of desperation behind it.

Dean studied the creature, wiping again at the windshield as it started to fog on him a bit. "Yeah, Sam?"

"There's something staring at me."

Dean's head whipped to the right in his brother's direction. His sight traveled to Sam's profile, still pressed against the window. Even in the dark, Dean could see the color was leaving Sam's face, his lips were dry, chapped and his eyes were locked in with the almond shaped eyes of the same kind of animal that the Impala decapitated. It stared at the two of them from the outside of the car door. Glaring it's beautiful eyes, full of anger, looking for prey, looking for revenge and currently stilling itself on Sam. It breathed quickly, rapid breaths that clouded the window and then cleared it within half of seconds. It snarled it's teeth at Sam, drool falling from it's gaping mouth. Dean could see Sam shudder, the breath of the creature seeming to halo his head over and over again. Steadily Dean reached over and grabbed his brother by his jacket, pulling him closer to him. Sam winced in pain and started to pant. The animal pressed it's head closer onto the pane of glass and took in a deep breath letting out a high pitched screech from the hub of it's body. Dean's hands flew over his ears and Sam grunted in pain from the sound, the car seemed to vibrate underneath them. It was a scream of terror, of pain. Dean looked over and the animal gazed into his eyes, it's eyes broadening to his as in warning. He felt Sam shake under his arm and to his horror, noticed Sam's breathing was coming on more hurried and shallow. Dean could see he wasn't getting enough air into his lungs his brother's head tilted back onto the seat, his mouth began to suck as much air as it could.

_Oh my God. I'm not going to be able to get him out of here_. It suddenly crept up on Dean. _Sam. My God. My Sam_. He was dying in front of him. Dean's hands went across his brother's chest. "It's okay, Sammy," his voice low, to his ear, "Breathe like me, remember? Breathe. You can do it."

Sam's eyes slid over to look at Dean. He made the connection, their eyes locked. And he tried. He held his breath for a second and tried to slow himself down, tried to match Dean's breathing, but to no avail. His breaths were coming so quickly, skipping around and he could start to feel his heart beating faster, skipping along with his breaths. He gasped.

Dean edged in on him, refusing to give up, refusing to let Sam give up. "Come on, Sam." And when Sam looked away from his brother, Dean bellowed at him, "Sam! You do this! You breathe! Like me!"

_Screech! _From outside the car, the creature was starting to pace, back and forth over and over again. It leaped towards Sam's window and flared razor sharp nails, scratching vigorously at the glass between it and the boys. It fanged it's teeth at Dean and shrieked at him raking in hissing breaths and shrieking again.

Dean focused back to Sam and tried to calm himself as best as he could. There was only one thing that mattered and right now that thing needed to breathe. "Sam, like me, right? Remember?" He placed his brother's hand back on his chest again and placed his own hand to Sam's.

Sam looked back and nodded, trying again. He breaths wheezed in and out, like Dean's and Sam could feel his heart start to slow down. His brother smiled down at him. "That's it, Sammy," but Dean knew they couldn't keep this up. He had to get him out of this car, with that… thing staring at them through the glass. Then what? Through the snow, the ice and where from there? Dean shut his eyes and felt his shoulders sag.

_We are so screwed_.

And the sound hit him, buzzing from behind him like a moped on speed. His eyes opened and he watched as the creature gawked back from the window, moving on hind legs, it met Dean's eyes again and screeched once more at him. Falling on to it's front paws it ran swiftly away from the car, taking a thick tail trailing behind it. Dean swallowed hard as the sound became louder from the outside. He could see the light bouncing off the trees and looked out the back window just in time to see what he thought was a snowmobile fly by the car. He looked out to where it seemed to be traveling, confused. Reaching for the handle on the car, he started to open the door when another white glare hit his face and the large body of a man, holding a flashlight, slid over the hood of the Impala, skidded on the ice he landed on and followed the path of the snowmobile. Dean swung the door open and stepped out into the cold air, the snow beginning to cover his brown short hair immediately.

"Hey!" he screamed in the direction of the men. He heard footsteps approaching from behind and turned to see three more men running towards the car, flashlights springing in their hands. Dean waved his arms in the air, signaling for them to stop, screaming as his eyes were blinded. A bearded man slowed his progression down the slope, seeing Dean, the car, and the impaled creature against the tree. He came to a stop a few feet away from the wreckage and put his hand up to stop the other two from barreling on through. The two men halted at the silent command. They were younger than the bearded man, each leaning forward resting their hands on their knees, wheezing from being out of breath. Each of them were sweating, rolls of water falling from their faces caused by the chase they had embarked on. The older man shone his light on Dean's face and then over to the dead animal.

"Cheese and rice," he stammered. He looked up to Dean, bright blue eyes flickering, beaming behind the bulb of the flashlight. From where he was standing, Dean could see the man take a huge gulp. "You killed it."

Dean glanced over his shoulder, realizing with embarrassment that he had his hands above his head as though the police was stopping him. He hesitantly lowered his arms and tipped his head. "My car, we hit it."

The bearded man walked by Dean straight to the damage in front of him. He waved one of the other men over to survey the remains. The younger man walked by Dean, he was short, stocky and wore a ball cap dipped over his eyes. He reached the bearded man and reached in with his pudgy hands and lifted the animal's head up and down. "Don't look as bad without no head."

The bearded man nodded. He pushed the younger man back. "Don't… don't touch it too much. It looks dead… I mean, I think it's dead."

Dean frowned at the two of them. "It's dead," he stated matter of fact.

The man with the beard diverted his gaze to Dean. He was taller, medium build and had snow pants pulled up over him held up by suspenders, a wooly scarf blowing and getting entangled in the suspender straps. He sloshed through the snow, deep long strides over to Dean and extended his hand. "John Joe," he announced.

Dean nodded. "Dean." He zipped his head into the car door and looked at Sam, still breathing, gasping. "This is Sam." Dean lifted his eyes back up to the man. "There a hospital around here? I need to get him to one fast."

The man stepped up from behind Dean and peered into the interior of the car. "Cheese and rice," he whispered. "What happened to this snapper? He's turning blue." Without waiting for an answer, the man climbed into the car beside Sam. He reached over and pulled the jacket back from Sam's body. Sam looked up to John Joe, his eyes heavy, his mouth puffing for breaths. The bearded man ran his hand along side Sam's torso and stopped when he felt the air escaping from the hole fashioned in his chest wall. He met Sam's eyes and gave him a small reassuring nod and an attempt at a smile. He could feel the cold that had settled around the puncture site and how it had spread across the boy's upper body. It wouldn't take much time to take him now and he could tell by the look in Sam's eyes that the kid knew it. John Joe turned quickly to Dean. "You smoke?"

The question surprised Dean. He shook his head. "No."

"Chew gum?"

Dean shrugged. "I think maybe there's a pack here somewhere."

John Joe reached up and felt along the dashboard. "Where?"

Dean stared at him, unsure of his motive.

"Where?" John Joe's voice was louder, more demanding.

Dean blinked. "Uh, try the glove compartment." Dean watched as the man reached over Sam and opened the compartment door. Dean's eyes focused in on his brother. Sam's head was tipped down, his body arched seeming to crave the air it wasn't receiving. Dean blatted his eyes hard. _I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?_ His father's words echoed in his mind and Dean abruptly became conscious of the fact that he was so cold. He looked at the creature, dead on the hood of his baby and felt a chill run through his body.

"Got it!" John Joe yelled.

Dean knelt into the car and watched as the older man took the pack of Orbits Mojito Mint and carefully unwrapped the cellophane. He took the pack of gum, threw it on the floor board and then turned to Sam, placing the fine plastic over the leaking hole. He quickly removed the scarf from his own neck and wrapped it around the young hunter's chest cavity securing it in a knot. John Joe removed his right hand glove and very gently held up his bare hand to the site. He closed his eyes and waited. "Okay," he looked at Dean. "We got a temporary solution, Whipper." He reached up and pulled himself out of the car. "But it's not gonna last for long. We gotta get this kid medical attention."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. No hospitals?"

John Joe was moving to the back of the Impala, waving his arms in the air like a maniac towards the back trees. "Donnie Lee, you see those headlights comin' back this way?"

The third man, apparently Donnie Lee Dean concluded, cupped his hands over his face and looked out into the trees. "I do." He stared waiving his arms as well. "Billy Mac!" He hollered. "Over here! Billy Mac!" The sound from the snowmobile started to become louder as the vehicle approached the crash site. Dean walked over to John Joe and shrugged his shoulders at the man.

"We have a guy back up the way, the town we live in," John Joe started, "it's not much, but he's all we got right now."

Dean watched as the snowmobile came into his line of sight. "You can help us." It was more of a surprised observation than a question.

John Joe lowered his eyes to Dean, they sparkled down upon him even though there was barely any light to catch them. "He's a medic. He's there right now, it's a small clinic, just two rooms, but there's supplies and Fish Sticks is good with his hands."

Dean lifted his eyebrows into inverted V's. "Fish Sticks?"

He shrugged. "Talk to his mamma."

The snowmobile pulled up beside the car and the driver jumped off the seat. "Fuckin' sweet car," the guy said directly to Dean. He cased the Impala from the back to the front, his eyes shot to the hood, the metal, the animal. "Shit!" He looked back at Dean and gave him an almost toothless smile. "You killed your car, man!"

Dean nodded. "Apparently Fish Sticks doesn't do teeth," he mumbled under his breath.

John Joe commanded two of the boys over to the open door. "Okay. We got to get this boy up the hill to Fish's clinic." John Joe went over to the passenger door and opened it up. Billy Mac and Donnie Lee flanked either side of him and waited direction from the older man.

"What happened to him?" Billy Mac asked looking at Sam. "He looks dead."

Dean raced over around the car as best as he could through the piling snow. John Joe looked over at Billy Mac. "He's not, but he's not well, either." The bearded man reached in and pulled Sam's legs out of the door as the younger boys grabbed him under the arms in a fireman hold. On three the men pulled the younger Winchester out of the car and carried him to the snowmobile. Dean awkwardly stepped out of their way as they carried his brother by him. He felt sick to his stomach, his head throbbed, he was cold all over, his heart ached and he couldn't move. Billy Mac climbed on the back of the vehicle and brought his feet in. John Joe leaned down to him. "You keep your arm around him here," he placed Billy Mac's arm around the scarf John Joe had tied on. "Don't let him go. You get up to Fish Stick's fast, don't stop and tell him this boy just killed one of them."

Billy Mac nodded and started up the snowmobile. Dean watched as he started to pull across the road, carrying Sam's flaccid body with him. Dean suddenly snapped out of it. "Wait! Wait!" he yelled, running up as quickly as he could. Billy Mac hesitated for a moment. Dean approached and put his head down next to Sam's, which was already resting on the handlebars. "Sam," he requested.

Sam didn't respond.

_You're my big brother, there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. _Dean pushed the words Sam spoke to him back, feeling they were said so long ago now. Perhaps in another lifetime.

Dean leaned in closer. He knew he didn't have much time. "Sam, we're getting you help. Just remember to breathe like me." Dean felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it down. His hand came up and he tussled his hair affectionately. "I'll be following you up the hill. Remember to breathe like me." He met Billy Mac's eyes and gave him a look. _Take care of him, I'll hunt you down, I swear_ kind of look. He stood up, silently giving the driver permission to continue on without him. Dean felt oddly cold again and not just because of his current elements. He stood in the snowy tire marks from where the car careened off on to the side of the road and watched until he could no longer see the red tail lights from the snowmobile.

"What the hell happened here?" Dean heard another voice join the chorus behind him. He turned and saw the larger man who had slid across the Impala's hood earlier reunite with the other men.

John Joe pointed up towards Dean. "He crashed into it. Killed it."

The man briskly walked to the tree and stared at the creature in the eye. "Sonuvabitch. Tryin' to kill these stupid things for years and you just run over one?" He looked over towards Dean. "Luck of the Irish?"

Dean shook his head. "Unlucky maybe."

The large man looked back down at the carcass. "Lucky for us. Check that one off the to do list, huh?"

John Joe laughed. They stood for a few seconds, appearing to soak in what had just happened. The bearded man looked over once again at Dean. "We got to go up that hill there, Whipper. You got anything you need from this ride of yours?"

Dean nodded, unsure of what to say to the name change the man had given him. "Yeah, I got a couple of duffels." He walked over to the trunk of the car as John Joe ordered Donnie Lee to help him with his luggage. Dean handed him his and Sam's clothing duffels and waited for him to take one to the stocky fellow, which Dean couldn't remember if he had ever caught his name. Relishing the few moments of privacy he had, Dean grabbed the last duffel, pulled the lever and grabbed the sawed-off, a machete, his Bowie knife, a .45, and two extra rifles. The duffel had plenty of ammunition already packed. Dean pulled the lever back and calmly shut the trunk, hoisting the larger, heavier duffel over his shoulder. He could hear John Joe telling the larger man the story of coming across the two travelers in their crashed car and how Billy Mac had just left to take the injured player to see Fish Sticks.

"What about the car?" Dean heard one of the younger boys ask.

John Joe held his arms out. "Can't get it out right now, can we?" He looked at the large man. "How 'bout it Del? You can come on back down later, right?"

The big man looked over at Dean, just entering his line of sight. "Hell, yeah, I'll send the truck down here, we'll get it dug out and see what we can work on." He nodded at Dean, encouragingly, "We'll get her runnin' again. It'll take a couple of days, though." Dean smiled and the man held his hand out, engulfing the younger man's hand in his. "Del Bert."

Dean's eyes sized him up. "Someone with just one name, huh?"

Del Bert gave him a baffled look. "No, it's two names," he corrected.

Dean sighed, adjusted the duffel on his shoulder and shot a look up the mountain, which everyone had came toppling down from just moments before. The group started again, it's steep campaign slow up the rocky terrain covered in ice and snow. John Joe hung close to Dean, guiding him up as they went along. "We have a trail over here, it's not in the best condition right now."

"I'll manage," Dean replied.

They walked in silence for a few moments, each seemed to adjust to the task in front of them, fine-tuning their own step with their body weight, shifting from right to left, breathing in, grunting out, using their hands to steady themselves when their feet slipped. Dean puffed near the rear, John Joe positioning himself behind him, telling him where to grab when his feet slid out from underneath him. The air was cold, blazing his lungs and the climb was causing his nose to run. The snow still fell, pelting against his coat in tiny marbles falling to the rocks below and sticking to his lashes mixing in with the sweat and blood on his forehead. Dean glanced up and squinted. It didn't seem the mountain ever reached a peak from where he was, it just kept growing into the darkness above.

"Didn't get the other one, eh, Del Bert?" John Joe yelled from behind Dean.

The large man didn't turn around. "Nope," his answer came stumbling down through the frigid air.

Dean continued pulling up the slopes, winding to the left and the right when needed. He caught a glimpse of the bearded man behind him and was impressed at how close the old man was, even if he was use to the trail. Dean grabbed a hold of a medium size boulder and hoisted himself up, standing to take a couple of breaths. He half turned to John Joe and nodded towards the bottom of the mountain. "What was that down there? That thing I crashed into?"

John Joe had already reached Dean in his climb. He reached out and turned Dean's shoulders away, encouraging him to keep ascending. "Don't worry about it," he muttered.

Dean frowned, half way because of the answer, half way because he was being forced to continue to climb. "It's just that, it looked like an animal, but…"

"But not." John Joe responded. Dean placed his left foot ahead and slid on the snow, regaining himself almost immediately and scooting ahead again. "There's things out here," John Joe attempted, "that are just pure evil, Whipper. Things you would never believe if you didn't see if for yourself."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, I think I know what… you mean." He panted out the last part, shoving his legs into high gear as the hill seemed to becoming steeper.

"What happened to your… friend?" the bearded man tried, ignoring Dean's previous question.

Dean swallowed. "My brother."

"Cheese and rice," John Joe made it sounded sympathetic. "Okay, what happened with him? That was no bullet hole."

Dean shook his head. "No, no, not shot." Dean climbed on, not responding back to the man in back of him. He hated being in these situations, strangers seeming to have a hint of what was going on, knowing things didn't look… natural. All he really wanted to do was get up that hill and get to Sam. He felt so cold, so out of place, so lost on that hill and he needed to know his brother was okay. Breathing, talking, laughing, alive.

"Looked like somebody took a stake and tried to drive it through his heart. Just missed a little."

Del Bert stopped his walk in front of Dean and turned around to look at the two men trailing him. "You talkin' 'bout the other kid Billy Mac took up to see the Doc?" John Joe nodded at him and Del Bert glared at Dean. "You bring us one of those goddamn vampires, boy?"

"N-no." Dean stated. "He's my brother, not a vampire." _Shit they knew about the vampires. Fucking vampires. No more vampires. _

John Joe edged the men back up the hill. "You got messed up with the vampires, though?"

Dean panted. "Yeah," he admitted. There was no use in pretending, there was going to be more questions when they got to the clinic anyway. "My brother and I are… hunters. We hunt evil things and, well, kill them." He didn't say anything after that, giving the two men time to let the revelation sink in. He waited for obvious questions, surprised gasps, denials, but they didn't come. So Dean continued, "But that thing down there, that was just an accident."

"A happy accident," Del Bert chimed in from up above.

John Joe saddled up behind Dean. "You kill those vampires?"

"My brother and I did," he answered, "but the last one, he threw a stake and…" he couldn't say it, his heart sinking, it didn't matter anyway, they all knew what followed the and.

"And we're going to nurse that kid back to health," Del Bert again ringing in, seeming to know that they needed to keep spirits elevated.

Dean glanced up and thought maybe he could see an end to this nightmare, Donnie Lee had stopped walking and looked like he was resting, waiting for the slackers to catch up with him. Dean felt John Joe push on him, urging him up, Dean looked down between his legs and met the older man's stare. "You gonna tell me now." Dean revisited.

"Tell you what?"

"What the hell that thing was that killed my car?" Dean kept staring, not moving from his crouched position.

John Joe looked down and then back up. "Kitsune."

Dean frowned. He stood taller and turned to John Joe. "It's some sort of a killer kitty cat?"

John Joe scoffed. "No. It's not human, but it can look sort of human, it changes it's shape, morphs. It's limited, though. It always has a big tail, usually nine smaller tails that make up one."

Dean tried to take that one in. A creature, a shape shifter, and a killer? He'd dealt with worse. "So what exactly is this kitty… kits…"

"Kitsune."

"Yeah, that. What is it?"

John Joe's voice was low, sad. "Soul stealer."

**A/N**: This story is about six chapters long! Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter One

**A/N:** Wow! Thanks everyone for your reviews, they are awesome! I really appreciate it. Here's chapter two, trying to get Sam out of the mess he's in, we'll see, didn't look so good for him in Chapter One.

**Chapter Two – River Deep and Mountain High**

John Joe pushed on Dean from the back, nodding up the hill, the two younger men had disappeared from the dark and were on the top of the mountain, Dean could only hope they were at their destination. He reached up and grabbed again at rock, stone, branches, anything that could help him get there, to safety, to warmth, to Sam. The width from Del Bert seemed to slim as the large man began to stand more upright as he walked, taking in long deep breaths. Dean didn't want to breathe. The air up on top of the mountain was about ten degrees colder than the bottom. It was burning his eyes, his skin frozen in pain, his fingers more numb than he ever knew they could be. Out of his vision, Dean could see that Del Bert had veered off to the right and stopped walking, turning his body towards the two remaining climbers and resting his hands on his thick thighs, trying to catch his breath.

Dean felt like those last three steps up the hill were the longest of his life. His body wanted to give out, his legs trembled underneath him, his feet hot from sweat and pressure, his shoulder ached from carrying the ammo duffel the entire way up hill . He reached the top and stumbled onto his knees, the hard snow accepting his weight into it, crunching around his body. He sat on his back haunches for a moment while John Joe brought up the rear. He walked to Dean and offered his hand to the hunter and pulled him up vehemently, not giving him much of a breather. Dean looked at him as the older man gripped his hand as he pulled. "I need to see my brother," Dean rasped, the stress evident in his voice, his eyes and his grip.

John Joe's blue eyes softened to the determined young man in front of him. "Want to stop up the way, get some water…"

"No. Just point me in the direction." Nothing could stop him. Not even himself.

"It's okay, we'll take you there. The boys still got your clothes and all."

Dean could have sprinted the rest of the way, if they had let him, if the snow hadn't been so deep, if he could see in front of him. The street they were headed to was very dark, very narrow and isolated. Almost deserted. Del Bert took over reign as the tour guide as they ventured the last half of mile in snow. They passed by a few small buildings, a mechanic's shop (which Del Bert explained he owned and operated) a couple of very tiny homes, a trailer, something that resembled a makeshift teepee (which had collapsed from the snow), a pink church and their final destination. The clinic wasn't just a clinic. It was also the town's small grocery store and ice cream parlor, which Del Bert pointed out served corn dogs and French fries at lunch time.

Donnie Lee and the stocky kid used their boots to clear away the piles of snow on the steps to the clinic, the rest following up slowly. Dean noticed, relieved the snowmobile was parked off to the left and there were trampled footsteps leading from it through the snow to a side door.

They entered in the front, John Joe shutting the door hard behind him and all the men seemed to let out simultaneous breaths, their bodies entering the warmth, stinging their skin. Boots started to fly off their feet, jackets were shucked from around them, gloves were piled in a heap by the entrance. The shivered, clapped each other on the backs and drew large smiles on their faces. They were noisy, glad to be home again, glad to know they made it back up the mountain, in once piece.

A back door opened and another man stepped out to greet his friends. He was tall, very muscular and was bald except for the two inch wide black tattoo, which encircled his head, save for the top where it still remained hairless. Dean stared at him, a bit in shock, not able to tear his eyes away from the tattoo. He wasn't sure what it was, if anything, maybe it was letters, the light in the front part of the clinic was dim and soft, hard to see.

"Billy Mac said you killed one," he stated to the men. He reached up and flicked on the overhead light. Much brighter, creating a harsh sensation in the ice cream parlor. Dean shielded his eyes from the glare. He had been in the dark too long.

John Joe gestured over to Dean. "He did. Decapitated it with his car."

"Guess we never thought to chop the heads off, huh?" the tattooed guy said back.

Dean's eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room and he finally got a much better look at his rescuers. John Joe stood before him, brilliant blue eyes that smiled when his mouth did, Dean guessed he was in his mid-fifties. His skin looked like leather, but not from age, maybe from smoking or maybe from his heritage. Dean couldn't quite place it. Del Bert was laughing at the stocky kid, his belly much bigger than Dean had given him credit for previously. He had sizeable hands and bulky thighs, covered in denim from his neck down. His hair had been dark, but was now graying and he kept it in a crew cut. He looked at Dean with dark eyes, dark lashes, his skin dark with a reddish tint to it. The stocky kid called him Dad and Dean realized they had the same dark eyes, the same build, but the kid's skin was lighter, no red visible that Dean could see. Donnie Lee was tall, gangly, blonde and blue eyed. He was white as the snow falling outside. It was as though he didn't belong amongst these men, his features were so… Caucasian.

John Joe paused a moment and then asked quietly, "She have it yet?"

The tattooed man shook his head back to him. "No, and the pains stopped 'bout an hour ago. Doesn't look like it's gonna be tonight."

"Damn," John Joe replied back, shaking his head in disgust, "that'll give the other one time to try again."

The huddle of testosterone all seemed to quiet, rounded in a group, like they were in a private meeting full of secret handshakes that Dean was not privy to. The quiet engulfed them for a moment and Dean finally spoke up.

"Dude, can I see my brother?"

The tattooed man looked over at him and nodded, his eyes hardening. He waved him to follow as he opened the back door again. Dean walked forward, letting the guy come up behind him. "Down over here," he talked calmly, almost peaceful. Dean walked with him down a small hallway. They passed by an open door to their right and Dean glimpsed in. Through the clutter of tables, linens and boxes, he was able to catch legs laying flat, covered by a white sheet leading up to a very large belly. A pregnant belly.

"This door," the tattooed man directed Dean over to the left. He turned and walked in, and felt his heart try to leap out of his body at the sight of his brother. _God, was he even breathing?_ Dean stopped still in the doorway, his brother's eyes were closed, the color gone from his cheeks, his mouth dry and bluish in pigment. Another man was bending over him, his hands on his chest, pushing, the other hand holding a stethoscope. He was in his sixties, short and thin. His face was wrinkled from life, too many laughs, too many drinks, too much sun. His skin was also slightly leathery, blending in with those he congregated with. He looked up over slender eye glasses, holding the tattooed man in his sight. "Get those things for me, Dave?"

Dave walked up from behind Dean, and placed a plastic device on the bed. Dean looked from the object, to Sam, to the medic. "What's that?" he asked, not knowing if he wanted the answer.

The medic didn't look up. "You the brother?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah." He heard footsteps behind him and looked back quickly to see John Joe and the stocky boy standing in the hallway, peering in.

"Kid's gonna need a chest tube." The medic answered, pausing a moment. "You know what that is?"

Dean shook his head slowly. "No." But he had a good idea.

"Well," he continued, ripping apart a swab of beta dine and cleansing the puncture site, "it's something we don't have here."

_Oh, God, Sammy. I wasn't fast enough, I missed it. I should have saw it, I should have stopped it before it threw that damn stake… _

"So, what do we do, Fish?" John Joe asked from behind Dean, he felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder and although he knew it was meant to help, it caused Dean to shudder throughout his body. The room began to sway.

"We're gonna have to make one." It was a simple statement, sounded solid, but something about it made Dean very nervous. The guy wasn't a real doctor, not really sure what he was, actually. _He's all we got_, the words John Joe spoke to him earlier didn't reassure him, his hand certainly wasn't doing the trick, either. "I got the lidocaine, the suction tubing, surgical glove…" his voice trailed. "Okay, I need towels, wet and dry and I need somebody to sit here and hold this boy down."

"What? Why?" Dean's nerves suddenly shining through making an appearance on the outside. _Lock it up_, he thought. He took a breath and let it out, regaining the shake from his hands.

""Cause all I got is chloroform and I don't want to give him that to sleep when his lungs sound like he's breathing through a straw fifty feet under water." Fish Sticks narrowed his eyes at Dean. "I know he's out, but we can only use the lido and after we breach the surface of his skin, he's probably gonna feel some pain. I need someone to hold him down, calm him when that happens. So why don't you come on over here, we'll pull up a chair."

Fifty feet under water. Sam wasn't the only Winchester breathing submerged under fifty feet of water. Dean could feel his heart rate quicken, almost panicking as he stood in the open doorway. The waves were rushing above him, keeping his head under the surface. He closed his eyes and he could see. See Sam laying on the ground in Cold Oak. Laying still. Cold. Just as cold as he was now, Dean knew. His brother's skin was so pale now, just like then. His lips were blue, just like then. He couldn't hold his hand, couldn't touch his brother's cold hand ever again. Hold his cold body down? He wouldn't.

"Can-Can I get the towels for you instead? I just feel… I work better on my feet."

Fish Sticks didn't even bother with a look. He pointed towards the left. "Go to the end of the hall, closet on the right. I need one wet, three dry."

Dean turned to exit, almost running into John Joe on his way out. The older man gave Dean a half smile. "You okay, Whipper?"

_Jesus Christ, I'm drowning here!_ Blinking, Dean nodded quickly. He just needed to do something, keep busy, keep moving, keep working. Keep Sam safe, watch after Sam, protect Sam, save Sam. He dipped his chin to his chest at the end of the hallway, he could feel the quick tremble there and had to be sure he had control before turning around for everyone to see. He looked up, grabbed the towels and stopped by the sink, wetting one. Fish hadn't said if it needed to be warm, hot or cold. Dean went safe, warm. When he turned, the hallway was empty, everyone had retreated inside the small room, whispers grew from the doorway. The supplies were laid out on a small table next to Fish Sticks. John Joe reached over and threw a suture kit down on the table. "One more," Fish had asked. The bearded man turned and threw another one down. Dean walked back in and looked around and the room seemed to tilt unexpectedly. John Joe was with Fish on the other side of the bed, helping to rotate Sam, get him on his right side, Fish was saying. The stocky kid was perched next to the wall, his left foot resting on the hard plaster in a comfortable L shape bent at the knee. And Dave, who Dean knew as the tattooed man, had perched his over-muscled body in the chair next to Sam. Dean stared at him with scared orbs, watching as he had one mammoth hand cupping Sam's right hand and his other draped heavily across his chest, pushing down on Sam's left arm from across the bed. Dean's face scrunched up, the big man was holding Sam down wrong, his arms weren't right, he didn't even have a hold of his hand, it was just hanging in his palm. Dean's eyes narrowed, fear left his body then and he found himself looking at Dave with envious, some would even call jealous, eyes. The surge inside him to protect, to watch, to safeguard started bubbling into a boil.

"Ah, the towels have arrived," Fish announced upon which the stocky kid moved his fat ass over and took them from Dean's leaden arms, walking the short distant and handing them to John Joe. They started to unfold the dry towels and place them beneath Sam's underside, readying for the procedure. "Okay, his vitals are…" He stole a glance in Dean's direction, "his vitals are weak so we have to move through this fast, got it?" The group nodded. "Whatever I ask, just do it and we'll get through this. Dave, you don't let go, no matter what he does." Dave nodded, shifting his rear end on the chair. "How the kid's hands feel?"

Dave gave Sam's hand a quick squeeze and looked up to the medic, nodding. "Good. Nice and warm."

_Oh, my God, warm_. Dean needed that warmth. His eyes shot to Dave's profile, shooting rays of anger, gut wrenching fear and truth and kindred need. His body traveled to the larger man in two quick strokes and he met him with a tackle at the chair. "Get up, get up!"

Dave tore away from Sam, almost falling from the chair. He stumbled forward, his hands catching him on the window sill, his mighty arms spanning apart. "What the fuck?" he hammered, turning towards the older hunter.

Dean sat on the chair and skimmed over the guy. "Sorry, man." And not knowing what else to say, Dean muttered out, "He's my brother." The room had grown silent for a few seconds. Dean straddled the chair and pulled it closer to the table. He reached across and brought Sam's left arm across his chest so the Dean could hold both of this hands together. He gathered them up and inched the chair closer to Sam's shoulder and clasped his own hands over his brother's. They were warm and the cold Dean felt inside himself started to warm, melting his interior. Dean let his breath out and Sam seemed to turn his face a bit in his brother's direction. "I'm here, Sammy," Dean assured him. He looked up at Fish Sticks and nodded, Fish not returning any sort of reply verbal or nonverbal. There wasn't anything left to say. Everyone was where they needed to be, in the positions they were intended to be in.

He started the procedure, quickly and as gently as he could, taking the suction tubing and pressing it into the hole, he guided it quickly until he felt resistance, turning it slightly he slowed the progression until he felt the nodule, the knot he couldn't miss or he'd tear through the lung tissue and would never be able to save the boy.

Sam let out a throaty deep gasp. It rattled Dean's teeth. His eyes settled on his brother's face, twinging in pain. Sam's eyes flew open, not seeing, but wounded, blinded, stuck in the in between. Dean gripped his hands around Sam's, John Joe tilted Sam onto his side more at Fish's order. Sam ripped one hand out and reached out, as though he were going to slide off the table. "It's okay, I got you," Dean tried to reassure, grasping the flailing arm.

The tube suddenly slipped and Sam bellowed, but Fish let out a sigh. The tube had slid into the right spot, found it's place. Fish Sticks grabbed the surgical glove and tied it to the end of the tubing, securing it with stitches and then turned back to the puncture site to stitch the opening up as well. Sam's breaths were coming quickly, rapidly. His chest rising and falling, striders present on his ribcage. "Too fast," Fish alerted. "Calm him down, he's breathing too damn fast."

Dean looked at his brother, his eyes were still open, wild and scared. Dean couldn't tell if Sam could see or if he was still in the haziness of unconsciousness. His chest was rising and falling against the pillows John Joe used to help prop him up. Dean leaned in closer and tried to whisper, "Sam, you hear me? You're breathing too fast, let's slow it down." He watched as Sam's chest kept firing rapid breaths, up and down, up and down.

Dean shut his eyes, he ran his thumb over Sam's folded hands and took in a breath. His voice started low, shaky, _"I go to parties sometimes until four, it's hard to leave when you can't find the door…"_ Sam's breathing started to let slow, easing his chest, resting his face, his features relaxing. Dean continued with the help of an imaginary Joe Walsh, _"It's tough to handle this fortune and fame, everybody's so different, I haven't changed."_

"Okay, we're done, people. We're safe." Fish Sticks held his hands up and withdrew his blood tinged gloves. "His breathing is better so I'm going to give him some pain medicine and something to help him sleep through his IV." Dean looked over and saw tubing hanging out from Sam's inner elbow. He hadn't even noticed it before. He locked eyes with the medic and nodded.

"Thank-you." His voice was thick with appreciation.

Fish Sticks turned Sam's left arm towards him and pressed in some clear liquid through the catheter. "No problem. He allergic to anything?"

Dean shook his head.

The medic waited a moment, flushed the IV and then pushed in more clear liquid. "Kid's got some heavy bruising on his body, lots of scars."

Dean nodded. "Our job."

"Uh, huh." Fish eyed the tattooed man behind Dean. He leaned in and heaved a lung filled sigh. "Jewel's not gonna have that baby tonight, big guy," he talked over Dean's head, "I say you take her on back to the house and relieve the sitter. If the baby changes it mind and decides to come, bring her right back here. I'm not gonna go no where tonight."

Dean could see the tattoo on the man's head nod behind him in agreement. "Wished she would have had it and those things wouldn't come back."

"Thing," John Joe corrected him. "We only have one to worry about now."

"That we know of," Dave started but then stopped. He sighed. "It's been a long day. I'll go get her and we'll come by tomorrow for lunch."

Fish Sticks nodded. "Sounds good. Bring the kids in."

Dave brushed up against Dean. He looked down at the hunter and spoke softly. "Thanks… for everything. Appreciate it."

Dean smiled oddly, not sure of what the thanks was for exactly.

The large man held his hand out. "Diamond Dave."

Dean took his hand with a firm grip, not wanting to be out matched. "Dean Winchester."

"Like the rifle?"

Dean smiled. It was said so innocent, it had been a long time since anyone had commented about that. "Yeah, like the rifle."

Diamond Dave nodded and walked out of the room, his size thirteen shoes flopping on the white vinyl tiles as he exited. Dean turned back to the remaining men, back to Sam. His brother looked better, still too pale, but settled, loose. His face seemed young, sunk into the pillow, his lips too dry, his cheeks chapped from the cold outside.

"Let me look at your head," Fish said to Dean. God, he had forgotten about hitting his head, forgotten about the blood.

Dean reached up with his hand and patted the cut above his eye. It came back bloody, but it looked mostly dry, felt sticky. Fish came around with the wet towel and reached over to damp Dean's forehead, but was caught by the young man's grip. "I got it," Dean demanded. The medic released the cloth towel to him, nodding. He looked at it after Dean was done cleaning it and decided he didn't need to put stitches in. He handed him some antibiotic ointment and gauze, figuring he would rather dress it himself. Dean obliged. "What time is it?" Dean asked wearily, squirting the ointment onto the pad and placing it next to his forehead, securing it with medical tape.

"11:30."

Jesus, it felt so much later. "That it?" Dean asked again. Fish nodded at him. "It just feels like it should be two or three o'clock in the morning, you know?" Fish nodded again. He knew.

"Let me check on your brother, make sure his vitals are okay and then we'll go and clean up the other room, you can sleep there tonight, there's a couple of beds in there." Fish Sticks took a cuff and stethoscope and started to check Sam's blood pressure.

John Joe motioned the stocky kid to go on and head home, they didn't need him around anymore this night. The kid could have rolled out of the room, he was so happy to leave. John Joe turned his attention to Dean. "I'll help you with that room," he volunteered.

Dean glanced over at Fish and Sam, the medic looked up. "94/42, much better than before, it'll be stronger by morning." He placed the stethoscope on Sam's chest and checked his watch, counting the beats. Dean gave a small smile and turned out of the room to follow John Joe.

"Shit," he heard Fish Sticks sharply whisper as Dean started down the hall. He halted mid-step and retreated back into the room.

"What is it?"

Fish was quiet for a moment, listening to Sam's chest. He shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to… scare you. His heart rate just jumped. He was around 74 beats and all of a sudden, he's doin' like 130. But it's okay, it's back down. Must've been a fluke thing." He met Dean's intense eyes. "Really, it's okay, go ahead."

Dean paused for a moment and then noticed John Joe waiting for him by the door. He nodded and followed the older man into the hallway for the second time. He had almost reached the other room when he heard Fish Stick's voice boom. "Damn. There it goes again."

Dean turned back around and sprinted back into the room. He pulled himself next to Sam's bed and placed his hand on his brother's forearm.

"Huh." Fish released in a throaty breath. He removed the stethoscope and stood quietly for a few seconds. "You're brothers?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Twins?"

Dean laughed. "No. I'm older. By four years." He waited, watching the medic think. Finally the man placed the stethoscope back to Sam's chest and ticked his head to the side, clocking his watch.

"Go, walk away to the door," he commanded Dean.

"What? Why?"

"Just go, walk over there." Dean started to walk towards the door. "Slow it up." Dean moved his feet slower, inching his way to the frame of the door and into the hall. "Okay, now come back in," Fish called to him. Dean turned around and walked back in, arriving at his original destination.

Fish Sticks removed the scope and shook his head. "Damndest thing."

"What is it?"

The older medic looked up to Dean with uncertain eyes, eyes that Dean could see held years of stories, undisclosed to most. "You're here, his heart rate is normal, you're over there, his heart rate speeds up, way too fast." Fish Sticks shrugged his shoulders. "Like some kind of weird… connection. Telepathy, maybe?"

Dean swallowed. Sam hadn't had any real psychic experiences since before Cold Oak. Not since they'd killed Old Yeller. At least nothing that Sam had told Dean about. Sam had his secrets, Dean knew. Maybe he had been keeping something from him, maybe there were still dark forces working that Sam didn't want his brother to know about. Deep inside Dean didn't know if he wanted to know about them, either. _You have to save Sammy. If you can't save him, you have to kill him._ It was also possible that Sam didn't even know he still had "the shining" or maybe this - connection – or whatever it should be called was just an oddity. Their lives were weird.

"No," Dean finally answered, softening his features reflecting back to the outside, "I don't know what it is."

Fish didn't seem satisfied with the answer, it didn't help him with his treatment for Sam. "Well, I guess we best move one of those beds in here," he stated over Dean's shoulder.

John Joe nodded. "I'll give you a hand with it. Whipper should stay near his brother."

Dean turned around and saw John Joe still standing behind him, he had forgotten he was there. The room tilted again and Dean realized how tired he really was, it had been a long day. He grabbed hold of the arm of the chair and slumped down in it, next to Sam. He rubbed his hands over this face, smashing his fingertips into the sockets of this orbs until he saw stars blinking back at him. He welcomed it. It felt good to feel something besides the tired and the worried. He was sick with confusion from the day. He flickered his eyes open and blinked hard, willing the sparkles away. He leaned into the arm of the chair and looked at his brother. His hair was dry, matted to his forehead, his face seemed so peaceful, just like he was sleeping, just like at Cold Oak. Dean shivered at the resemblance, he was so still then but now… his chest would rise and fall and all was well in their world. He was okay. He was safe. Dean had did his job, kept Sam okay, kept him alive. It was 11:50 p.m., one more day almost gone. Again.

_No more fucking vampires_.

Fish Sticks had been securing Sam's dressing site with more tape. He looked at the surgical glove hanging on the end and removed it with scissors, holding it up to show Dean. The fingers of the glove were bulging, radiating a light crimson color. Fish attached another surgical glove to the end and watched as the color started to drip in. "I'll watch this tonight," he told Dean, "It's serosanguinous so that's good. It'll start slowing up until it eventually doesn't come out anymore and then we'll pull it and things should be okay."

_Should be?_ Dean lifted his tired eyes to him. "When will that be?"

Fish sighed and Dean knew the medic had no real answer. "Depends on the kid. Best case scenario, could be the day after tomorrow. Worst case, a week or more."

Dean's face lit up. "Depends on Sam? Probably coming out tomorrow then." He slapped his knee, not sure why, he felt stupid after he did it.

Fish smiled. "I won't pull it tomorrow, but if the drainage slows and he's breathing okay… and he's alert, then we'll see about the next day. Lots of depends…"

"What's that song you've been humming?" John Joe's voice broke into their conversation.

Dean hadn't noticed he'd been humming anything. He shook his head. "Don't know. I guess some Aerosmith or Zeppelin."

John Joe looked at Fish Sticks as he started to walk out. "Guess we should bring in a radio for these boys, huh?" Fish nodded in agreement. John Joe looked at Dean. "Think we only get two stations up here. One is country…"

"Don't bother then," Dean retorted.

"The other is a little of everything… I've heard some Aerosmith on it."

Dean nodded. He didn't really care, he understood the men were just trying to help, make him feel at home, make him feel better. It wasn't totally failing, he felt better than he had when he was sitting in the car watching his brother gasp for air. He stared at Sam now and Dean took in a breath of his own and then another, steadying himself. Breathe like Sam. They were deep, filling breaths, emerging from the water, safe on a lifeboat. Floating to shore. This was better, much better than before. This was…

By the time John Joe and Fish Sticks made it back into the room with the bed and the radio, Dean had fallen asleep in the chair. The men looked at each other when they walked in and simultaneously changed their clumsy thuds into tiptoes, maneuvering the bed around the room, settling it behind Dean. John Joe set the radio on the table ledge and Fish pulled the sheets down on the bed. Dean sat slumped over, his head resting in his left hand, his right hand hanging loosely over Sam's right forearm. Fish started to walk towards Dean, but John Joe stopped him, shaking his head.

"Let them be," the bearded man whispered. It was a fragile moment, he could sense. Two brothers, so much pain, two hearts, so much to say, two souls, so much to find. And with that they exited the room leaving the brothers alone for the first time since they were pulled from the wreckage.

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Dean's head bobbed once and his eyes flittered open and then closed again. He fell backwards again into the darkness behind his eyes, grasping hold of his dreams when the voice caught him, nagging, pulling him back to real time. He felt his shoulders fall and his body gripped forward as though he were falling. His eyes opened wide and he looked around, realizing he was still in the side chair, still in the clinic. He rubbed his eyes, shifting his body slowly, his rear end had fallen victim to pins and needles from lack of blood flow.

"Dad."

Dean's eyes shot up to Sam. His brother's eyes were closed, his lips pursed, his eyebrows frowned, his face tight, hurting. Dean placed his hand on Sam's forearm and the younger brother pulled himself away, as though he feared him.

"Dad. Stop." His voice was firm. It caught Dean by surprise. He wasn't sure what Sam was dreaming about, didn't think he wanted to know and was taken aback by his call for their father. Dean couldn't remember a time that Sam ever called out for their father. It had always been Dean.

Laying his hand back on Sam, Dean tipped forward in the chair. He felt Sam's muscles jump under his hand and Dean tried tightening his grip, caressing him with his thumb to show he meant no harm. "Sam…" he began.

"Dad." His voice was more pleading this time, his face scrunching up like he use to do when he was a kid, when Dean would explain why their Dad wasn't there for dinner that night or breakfast the next morning.

Dean felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it down. "No, Sam, it's Dean." He waited, watching his brother but Sam gave him no indication that he was hearing him. "Dad's not here…"

"Dad's… not coming…home." Sam slurred out, his eyelids opened in small slits and Dean could see hints of blue-green behind them.

Dean rubbed his hand on Sam's arm. He wasn't sure how to respond to him. What home was he talking about? What was he dreaming? Where were they? What time were they? Too many questions, not enough answers. Dean felt a heavy feeling in his chest, felt the weight of being the oldest drench him, pouring down his neck and submerge his body and felt the burn to protect, to guard. "Dad's not here. I'm here, Sam." _Dean. You remember me, right? _

Sam was quiet, his face still pinned, stilled in pain, his arm pulled again away from his brother, like he was the enemy. Dean lowered his head on Sam's upper arm and spoke into the softness of the thin mattress his brother lay on. "Come on, Sammy, it's me."

"The phone lines are down," the voice came deep, quickly behind him, Dean jumped at the sound of it and turned sideways in his chair to face Fish Sticks.

"What?" Dean gasped. _God, can't people just let them be alone?_

Fish Sticks walked quietly up to the bed and put the blood pressure cuff over Sam's arm, placing his stethoscope over the inner part of his elbow.. "I'm just saying, when the lines come up, you could call your Dad."

Dean lowered his eyes. _Oh_. He let a long breath out and looked at Sam with hollow eyes, feeling lost without his brother's pain in the ass remarks to keep him going, keep his beat, keep his spirits high, keep him feeling alive. He looked over at the medic with heavy eyes, a heavy heart. "No, our Dad's… he died."

Fish released the valve on the blood pressure cuff and locked eyes with interest at the new outsider. "I'm sorry. How long?"

Dean shrugged. "Over a year now."

Fish moved his eyes over Dean's face and is head bobbed once. "Okay, well you could call your Mom…"

"Dead. Long time dead."

Dean's voice shocked the older man, he was studying his face, trying to read it. His eyes darted back and forth between the brothers. "Just the two of you?" It wasn't so much a question and he gulped when he saw Dean's head dip once in affirmation. He looked down and removed the cuff from his patient's arm. "108/50, better." He took his scissors out and cut the surgical glove off, holding it up for Dean to see again. It was full. He attached another glove and then pressed the stethoscope to Sam's chest. "Heart is nice and strong, lungs still need mending." He put a tympanic thermometer in Sam's ear and it beeped back at him. "101.5. A bit of a fever. I gave him some antibiotics earlier, the fever will start to come down." He waited a few seconds, watching Dean watch Sam intently. "Sometimes fevers cause bad dreams, some hallucinations." He offered in an attempt to explain Sam's calling out, an attempt to help Dean with hearing it. "I'll give him some more pains meds, it's been about four hours, he can have some more."

_Jesus, I slept here for four hours!_ Dean surprised himself. He turned and looked at the clock on the wall. 3:55. Wow. It had been a long time since he had slept four hours in a row. He rocked back on the chair, his heals digging into the white vinyl of the clinic floor.

"I have the bed there made up for you," Fish stated, pointing behind him. Dean glanced at it and nodded in appreciation. Fish Sticks flushed Sam's IV and pushed in more of the clear liquid, flushing it again to chase it down. "That should kick in a few moments." He turned his attention once again to Dean. "You need anything? Some Tylenol?"

Dean's eyes lit up. He never thought something like Tylenol would sound so good. His head was throbbing. "Yeah, that would be great."

Fish turned from him to the corner desk and took a bottle out, shaking three pills in his hand. "This should help you out."

Dean took them from the medic greedily and dry swallowed them. His body craved some relief. Fish Sticks patted the old mattress on the bed. "It's thin, but it'll feel better than that rickety chair."

Dean started to wave him off, but after seeing the look matched in the older man's eyes, he thought twice about it and reluctantly turned and flopped onto the bed. It was hard, uncomfortable, nowhere for his back or ass or aching body to sink in to. He grunted under his breath, still feeling Fish Sticks' presence, he didn't want to be too loud so not to offend the man. Fish reached down and pressed the side rail of the bed, the head began to rise. Dean put a hand out, stopping him. "That's enough."

Fish smiled, nudging his head towards Sam. "Thought you could keep your eye on him better. You can see him easier."

Dean glanced over. He was right. Just a small turn of his head and there was Sam. His head was turned towards Dean, his face relaxed again. He looked like he was twelve. Dean caught Fish's eyes and nodded. "Thanks… for this."

The man yawned back and pushed his hands at him. "I'll be in the other room if you need anything. I haven't slept all night."

Dean felt a little guilty about that, but couldn't think of anything to say to change it, to make it right. It had been because of them. Lack of sleep, makeshift chest tubes, worrying about some stranger dying on his clinic bed, soul stealers to keep away. Fish showed Dean the controls on the bed so he could adjust himself, if needed. Dean watched as the his upper forearm muscle worked, the sleeve crawling up his bicep, sporting the beginnings of a black tattoo peeking out at Dean. It looked like claws of a bird, sharp, reaching down to snatch it's prey. An Eagle. He glanced up at the medic, Fish Sticks' dark eyes not leaving the side rail as his leathery fingers finished his instructions. Dean smiled. He wanted to comment, wanted to ask where these people were from, why they were settled out in the middle of nowhere, but he was too tired. It was too early or too late, he wasn't sure anymore and his body still begged for sleep. And John always taught him ask only the questions needed to get the job done, don't dig too deep. Save who you can, but don't get to know them. People complicate things. The Winchesters didn't need any more complications then they already had. He closed his eyes and fell asleep fast, faster than normal. It was glorious, a welcomed needed sleep, his breaths coming long and deep. He slept hard, so hard in fact that he never heard his brother in the bed next to him.

"No, Dad. Can't…have him. I'm gonna save him." Sam's face scrunched up again, pain filling his vocal cords. _"I promised."_

**Play List**: The song Dean sings is_ Life's Been Good_ from Joe Walsh

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to above song, either.

**A/N: **What do you think? I know, no action – yet - but we had to get through that part. Chapter Three will be up in a couple of days, it is already written and ready to go. Getting the boys ready for some fighting action, some more ups and downs with the brothers and we'll learn more about the folks that are taking care of them. Let me know what you think! Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

What was that

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter One

**A/N: **I hate author's notes. This chapter is a little long, but necessary as the towns folk explain what they are doing on this mountain, who they are and what is out there beyond their village. God, I just hope Sam wakes up soon…

**Chapter Three – Under a Raging Moon **

His heart resonated in his ears, thickly disguised as percussions packing his head with the musical sounds of a drum-line. _Boom-Boom. Boom-Boom_. He tried to open his eyes but they resisted, wanting to stay closed, away from the light he could feel shimmering on the other side. It was always the same feeling he had when his body woke this way, vulnerable to what he could only hear on the other side of his lids, not knowing what or who matched the sounds. He had woken this way before, more than once in his fast life, woken to find his life in trouble, woken to find himself alone. He hated this part. His eyes flittered, lights danced hauntingly, shapes formed, swirling into wolves, spirits, distorted faces with yellow eyes…

"There he is. I think he's coming around." The voice sliced through the pain, the worry, the fear, and the boom-boom of his heart. He felt his shoulder settle, felt his toes tingle, the flicker of his lashes curling on his cheeks. It was the voice he would fight for, the voice he would kill monsters for, the voice that he would open his eyes for. The voice of the only person who mattered, his brother.

"Hey, Sam." Dean was smiling. Sam focused on him as the rest of the room warped into unfamiliar surroundings around him. Dean turned his head to the side and acknowledged someone, but Sam didn't dare look away, everything was spinning on the fast cycle and he could keep his stomach from heaving if he just concentrated on one thing at a time. The voices were still coming and going, assaulting his tympanic membrane like the beat of his heart. "so tired… scared us there… Fish fixed you up… glad to have you back… look at me… hurt?"

Sam nodded. God, he hurt. He hurt so bad. _What was that?_ He reached over to the side of his chest and felt something round and plastic sticking out. _What the fuck?_ He wrapped his fingers around it and gave it a weak pull. It didn't budge. God, it was killing his side. He had to get it out. He gripped the tube tighter and prepared to give it a good yank when he felt someone's grasp on his wrist, pulling his hands away from the tube.

Sam looked up and saw dark eyes staring back at him, a wrinkled face leathered by the sun. His mouth was moving, speaking softly to the younger Winchester. Sam frowned at him, trying to decipher the words. "Can't touch. You have to leave it alone."

Sam licked his lips. He was parched, his tongue was dry, his mouth was chapped and it felt rough against his dry licks. There was something not right about his lips. They felt too big, too big for his face, too big to form words but he tried anyway. "W- is it?"

The older man bent down closer to Sam. "It's called a chest tube. You were injured, this is helping you to breathe."

_Dean, I can't breathe_. It rushed back to him. The car. It crashed. Tree. Dean pissed. The cold. The snow. Blizzard, no, snow shower. Dean had it under control. The pain. He couldn't breathe. There was something looking at him…

Sam turned his head to Dean. "Vampires."

Dean nodded. _I missed it, Sammy, I should have seen it_. "Yeah."

Sam closed his eyes in a long blink. When he opened them again, he saw his brother's head, low, his eyes diverting to the ground. Sam swallowed hard. "Dean," his voice was raspy, sandpaper. Dean looked up and Sam could see the wordless fear. "No more vampires."

Dean gave him a half grin. "I hear ya, little brother."

Fish Sticks walked around the bottom of the bed. "Your blood pressure is better, fever is down. I think you're gonna actually pull through this." He sounded as though he were giving stats on a personal accomplishment. The old man was proud of himself.

"Cheese and rice, it's alive!" another voice joked. John Joe broke into the door from the hallway, cleaned, shaven, dressed in a flannel shirt painted with colors of red and green. He waved a hand at Sam. "Remember me, Snapper?"

Sam's eyebrows came together in a bushy mess over the bridge of his nose and he shook his head.

The bearded man shrugged it off. "Course you don't. You were half dead." He grabbed hold of Sam's big two and shook it fiercely. "I'm John Joe. We stumbled upon you and your brother last night, got you up that hill and, well, brought you here. You sure had us all scared shitless. I don't think Whipper thought you were gonna pull through it!"

Sam looked at Dean, obvious confusion growing across his face.

Dean exhaled. "I'm Whipper, you're Snapper. Just go with it." He pulled one shoulder up and rolled his eyes.

Sam nodded back to John Joe.

"And this is Fish Sticks. He's our Doc Holiday. He brought you back from half dead to… mostly alive."

Sam looked over to the older man. "Thanks," he managed. "It hurts."

Fish turned to get the syringe ready. "You can have more pain meds…"

"No," Sam whispered, "makes me sleepy. I don't want to sleep…"

"Sam, take the medicine," Dean's voice commanded. He rubbed his hands roughly together, something only Sam knew he did when he was nervous.

"Just Tylenol," Sam ignored him.

Fish Sticks wavered a moment between the two brothers, one protesting, one demanding. He slowly placed the syringe on the countertop and grabbed a bottle. He shook out two pills and handed them to Sam, pouring him a glass of water. "Vicodin," he stated. "Stronger than Tylenol, but won't make you sleepy like the Dilaudid."

Sam took the meds and grabbed the water. He inhaled the liquid in two fast gulps and held it out to Fish, his eyes begging for more. The medic immediately replenished the cup and chuckled as Sam finished it off, holding the flimsy plastic out of more. "Slow it down," he cautioned. "You keep this up, you'll throw it up out your nose."

Sam sipped the third glass at that warning. He'd been there before, didn't want to do that today. He put the glass down on the table beside him and took in a deep breath, feeling the stitches pull on the chest tube and the plastic shift under his skin. He winced, hissing through his teeth and felt his brother's eyes fall upon him. He sucked in the breath, let it out and pulled it together. He needed Dean to be reassured, needed Dean to be okay. Sam needed to mask it, show him he'd get through this. They'd been through worse. Sam swept the room with his eyes, looking at his two rescuers, they were both grinning, staring back at the young hunter. Sam looked around the small office. Medical equipment was sparse, some of it outdated, a calendar hung across from him, pictures flanked the clock on the opposite wall, one of a ferocious wolf, the other of a mighty bear. There was a red and blue rug thrown on the floor in front of the door with green diamonds embedded in it, handmade, Sam thought. Next to the bottle of Vicodin, herbs and incense stacked on a small shelf.

"What tribe are you with?" Sam asked. Dean shook his head. Leave it to his brother to take his observations and put them where his mouth was.

Fish and John Joe looked at each other and shared a hearty laugh. Footsteps were heard coming up fast behind them and Del Bert's large body hovered in the frame behind the smaller bearded man. He leaned into the room and steadied his gaze at Sam. "Hell Bells," he commented. "Kid looks good."

Sam made a face. It was odd how they all knew him and he recognized no one. He smiled sheepishly, a little unsure of exactly what had transpired since his arrival to this destination.

Del Bert pulled up his sleeve on his right arm, sporting a black tattoo of a rattlesnake, its head proportionally larger than the rest of the reptile's body. "Arikara. We're from the Arikara Indian Tribe."

Sam nodded. "All of you?"

"All of us. All of us that live 'round here." Del Bert sat down on a high stool in the corner of the room, it let out a scared creak from under his rear. He folded his bulky arms and leaned back, bringing his big boots to rest on the silver bar at the bottom. "We're all from blood lines of great men who lived Arikara." His eyes sparkled behind the sentence.

"So is this a reservation?" Sam asked.

John Joe laughed. "No, no, Snapper. Our tribe is dying, well, dead. None of us are full blood descents. We're all mixed. Our grandfathers, grandmothers they moved, married Americans, Asians, Africans. Then their children, our parents, also married others not of Arikara. We just evolved into a Heinz 57 of Americans. A small group of us settled here when the land was given back to the tribe a few years ago and we moved up on this clearing…"

"Yeah, lots of room here, it's big and long and doesn't grow a damn thing," Del Bert interrupted.

"We have come from many walks of life to live here, trying to reconnect with the lives of our ancestors. There have been many stories told which we didn't believe when we settled here. But, we have learned many things and one thing is certain our land has had the unfortunate burden of being inhabited by evil spirits. Probably for many years now." John Joe sighed.

Sam turned his head to his brother. Dean had been so quiet sitting in the rickety chair. He turned and lifted his eyes towards his younger brother and for a few seconds, Sam just held the stare, not saying anything. Boom-boom, his heart played on inside of his head. "There was something looking at me. In the car."

Dean nodded. He glanced up to John Joe, looking for help for the word.

"Kitsune." John Joe knew what he needed.

"Yeah, that. Soul stealer." He said it like it was a cow and they could just go out and tip it over, kill it and then make hamburgers later on for lunch.

"Well, not just any soul stealer," Del Bert stated, gloomily. "I mean, it'll take any soul, if it is desperate enough. I've seen people… adults after it's gotten them. It takes the essence from them and then leaves them, in a shell, their body, alive. And they start to change. They become… empty, like walking zombies, and then…the succumb, they fall asleep and they don't wake up. They can't ground themselves, I guess. It's horrible to watch. Only takes a couple of days for them to… surrender to the dark… without their soul." The brothers watched as the large man, looked away in thought of things his eyes had seen. "But the Kitsune it doesn't prefer an adult's soul. It's hungry for the new."

"Children," Dean responded.

Del Bert shook his head. "Newborns."

Dean lifted his eyebrows into inverted V's. "Newborns? You mean… babies?"

Del Bert looked at the young man. "Yeah, babies. We've lost a few here, but we've protected most of 'em. But right now, this snowstorm, we can't get out and we got ourselves a real pregnant gal. She went into labor last night and the Kitsunes came to claim their prize. That's where you fellas come in to play. We chased 'em, shot at 'em, they ran. But Jewel, she never had that baby. And if it comes before we can move her to a hospital, the other one'll come back and it'll get her baby. And it's mad now."

Dean watched the large man speak. He was quickly reminded of the legs, the pregnant belly that he had accidentally spied on last night in the other room. The chase down the hill, the men had congregated to protect the unborn. Dean remembered the eyes of the animal, the human feeling it held there, the skin on it's cheeks and they way it shrieked at the brothers through the glass. He had the machete packed, he could hunt it today, find it, cut it's head off and make it back in time for corn dogs and French fries.

"Why is it mad?" Sam's voice interrupted his scheming.

John Joe looked at Del Bert. They held a moment of silence and then the blue-eyed man spoke quietly, but sternly. "You killed her mate."

"Her?" the brothers asked in unison.

"Yeah, the one you pinned with your car, it's the smaller one, the male. The female, she's bigger, more powerful, more… vicious. She, she got a look at you, right?" His eyes focused on Sam and then Dean.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, through the window…"

"She has very good sight, very good smell. They can smell when a baby is here, they can smell a woman going into labor, when the mother's water breaks, they go wild."

Visions of terror filled the brothers' minds, images of new mothers screaming out in pain from laboring for a child and then the tears of anguish as a creature fought to take the child away from her after months of hard work. Dean noticed Sam's gulp, his hands clench.

"The Kitsune may decide to seek you out, you killed her partner. She will want revenge, want you to pay, want your soul to devour. She will know you, when she looks at your eyes. She sees your aura."

Del Bert took over the conversation for his friend. "We killed one once, long time ago. It was small, too, a male. The guy who killed it was being hunted by the Kitsune, it advanced on him and he was able to attack him with his knife, cutting him, slicing him to pieces. But in the process, he sliced his own hand, his blood mixing with the monsters and when the female came across her lover, she knew exactly who murdered it by the smell of his blood, what she could see there, taste there. She came into the village, walked right into the church…"

"What?" Sam's voice exclaimed. "How did it _walk_ right in?"

"It changes forms, can look very… human. She walked in, she was tall and beautiful, long dark hair. We were all staring at her, she captivated us. And she reached where Owen sat, turned to him… she moved so fast none of us even saw the actual act." Del Bert stopped for a moment and slid eyes to Fish Sticks, he was standing quiet, shaking his head.

Fish took in a deep breath. "She pulled out his heart, it beat in her hands. Owen was still sitting there, smiling and then she squeezed and the heart stopped. Fur grew on her arms, her hands turned to long nails and a huge tail swept up from underneath her dress. She placed her mouth to Owens and sucked, liking the blood from his mouth, from her body. We were all frozen in disgust, fright. But when she was done, she just left. She was there for a specific purpose, a specific person."

The three men stopped their story. Dean and Sam nodded, looking at them, absorbing what they had said. Lately it seemed that no matter what the did, no matter where they went evil had a way of turning up. It was as though they were being watched, someone keeping tabs on their every move. Just when one job finished, another job was already erupting. Evil was tracking them. Trying to keep them busy, perhaps, keep their minds off finding ways out of deals with demons. Ways from keeping certain people from squealing out of things that are only sealed with a kiss.

"I hate shape shifters," Dean announced.

Sam nodded. They'd dealt with them, too. Chock it up to the list and counting. "But this one, it can be killed. With a knife, cutting it's head off…"

"I just got to get close enough." Dean commented.

"**We**," Sam corrected. "We've got to get close enough."

Dean scoffed at him. "Oh, for God's sake, Sam. Look at you, you've got tubes hanging out of you, you're on pain killers, you were barely breathing last night…"

"That was last night." Their eyes met and Sam narrowed his.

"You look like shit." Dean growled.

"So do you, scarface," Sam bantered back. Each brother took a breath. Sam glanced up to the medic. "When can I get this tube out?"

Fish Sticks laughed. "Not today." His answer was not to be argued with, Sam could feel his sincerity.

"But it's not attached to anything but a glove so can walk around, right?"

Fish didn't know what to say to this. The kid just woke up from a trauma-induced coma and was ready to race up and down mountains covered in ice and snow. "You can walk around the hallway, the clinic, but you shouldn't go outside."

Sam looked at Dean, satisfaction across his face.

"What?" Dean mused. "He just told you no."

"He said _shouldn't_."

Dean looked away. On so many levels, they were so much more alike than he or Sam would ever admit. "Let's just wait," Dean said carefully. "This woman isn't in labor right now and if the…" his eyes fell on John Joe.

"Kitsune."

"Yeah, that. If it wants us, it knows how to find us so maybe we should just wait the day and see if you can get that tube out, 'k?"

Sam could hear the worry in his brother's voice. He knew he was more than concerned, afraid even, if Dean's advise was to wait. _Shoot first, ask questions later_. That had been Dean's motto, his normal thought process. The fly by the seat of his pants kind of hunter that he normally was, was not present now. That didn't comfort Sam, he felt his stomach twitch and thought the pills and water was going to make a reappearance, but he was able to swallow hard, force it back down and nod at his brother. "'K."

Dean looked to the other men. "So, this bad ass bitch, she alone?"

John Joe shrugged. "Unless they had puppies."

"They can do that?" Sam asked.

Dean thought about what John said about this area - evil nests, sets up home, plays house…

"I don't know, but we've killed one, you've killed one and there's still one out there that we know of." John Joe breathed heavily. "She, this thing… she was once a real woman, you know."

"They usually are," Dean quipped.

The bearded man shifted his weight slightly under him, watching as his black boots left a dark mark on the white vinyl. "Long, long, long ago she came over here from Japan, she was suppose to be a mystic, someone who held powers of good. She married the son of one of our great chiefs and he brought her to his people. They didn't feel she was a mystic at all, but feared she held powers of that of a witch."

"Someone's gonna drop a house on your sister kind of witch?" Dean pried.

John Joe nodded. "Yeah. Real mean. Her husband died young and the tribe would not allow her to stay, would not grant her the power of her title, they stripped her of everything she had, cast her out into the woods. They took her children and bound them, roping them together and threw them from the cliffs down to the rock below. It is said she screamed so loud, so horrible that those who heard her went deaf. She came back to the village, she cursed the land and she drank the blood from her dead children, saying she would gain power from their souls, they would enable her to keep living, to keep the Arikara from continuing on. They say she walked away from the tribe and swished a massive tail behind her as she left."

"But how would there be more than one?" Sam wondered aloud.

Del Bert bent forward. "She was with child."

A hush of silence fell over the small room in the clinic. Dean rubbed his hands over his face and looked over at his brother. Sam was thinking, Dean could tell, catching things Dean had missed, reading between the lines.

"So, the souls of children, newborns, the young feed her power," Sam stated back, nodding. "She's the only one that can shape shift?"

Fish Sticks held his palms out. "I don't know. Think so, though."

Sam frowned. "So the female holds the power. The males, they just distract, help with the terrorizing, but she does the killing, she takes the souls."

The three Arikara's were quiet for a moment. "Huh," Del Bert sounded. "Never put that together before."

John Joe shook his head. "Yeah, me, neither."

Dean smiled. "That's my Stanford brother. He's wicked smart."

Sam glanced over to Dean. "I didn't learn any of that at Stanford."

Dean smiled a moment and then felt his shoulders sag, plummeting him forward. He looked at the clock - 10:30. The morning was going by so slowly and yet he was still so tired. The three men talked amongst themselves for a few minutes, telling tales they had heard over the years about the Kitsunes and people they had taken from the village. They described to the brothers how each of them had returned to the land of their ancestors to claim the land that was once their people, the land they inherited, all of them thinking the stories were just legends buried long ago by people who wore head dresses and danced to the moon. The men in front of them now were not Native Americans at all. They had all came from different states, Fish and John Joe had went to college, they all had regular jobs, families, they drove cars and had DVD players. None of them truly understood what taking this land back meant until they arrived, each with a personal quest to discover more about where they'd come from, who had conceived them years before. Now, they agreed, they were bitterly disappointed.

"I never even knew there was so many words for tree or sun or love or hate," Del Bert was saying. "There's so much depth, thickness, layers our people lived in. My dad was a fireman, my mom was a homeroom helper at my school. We didn't smoke peace pipes or pray for rain. We never even talked about things like that."

A bell rang from down the hallway and John Joe snuck a look. "Think you got a customer for lunch, Fish." He announced.

Fish Sticks groaned. He looked at the two boys before him. "I'll bring you in some corn dogs and French fries."

Sam's stomach turned. He held up his hand. "Just toast, thanks."

Fish Sticks nodded. He turned towards Sam, snipped the surgical glove off and held it up so Dean could see, not as much fluid, but the fingers of the glove were still full. The medic grabbed another glove and attached it to the end of the tube. "Not coming out yet," he said, placing a firm hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder.

Sam glared away. Not what he wanted to hear, not what he wanted his brother to hear.

"Well," John Joe spoke up, "Del and I we'll go on out and help Fish out at the grill. Let you boys rest a bit. I'll sneak you in some ice cream later on." He flashed a smile while Del Bert creaked off the forgiving stool and gave the boys a friendly wave.

"Snow has stopped for now," Del stated. "I'm gonna take the tow down the hill this afternoon, see if I can move your car from that tree."

Dean winced back and nodded. His baby, out there, left smashed against the tree. With that thing bleeding all over it. It made him sick. 'I'll go with you," Dean said.

John Joe motioned towards Sam. "Really. It won't take long. I'll go with him. I think you should just stay here and… be with your brother." He placed his hand over his heart and tapped it twice for Dean, reminding him of the night before, Sam's heart rate accelerating when Dean had left the room. The older brother caught the flap of the hand and paused a few seconds.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I'm just anxious to see her." The two men smiled and exited the small room. Leaving the brothers alone again. Dean looked around the room, catching the artwork he had missed before.

"What was that?" Sam asked.

Dean looked over. "What?"

"Dude, your car is smashed. You should go down the hill and get it. You don't have to stay here with me. I don't need a babysitter." Sam's voice was edgy, Dean heard it, but he refused to acknowledge it.

"No. I'm just... I'm tired, Sam." He motioned towards the door. "Those guys, they know what they're doing. I just want to…"

Sam waited. He watched Dean swallow, his throat working against something that he wasn't letting his brother see. "Want to what? Protect me? Save me? You've got just over three months left…"

"You don't have to remind me…"

"And you're making this about me." He scooted in the bed away from Dean. "When the hell does it stop, man?"

Dean tilted his head and drew in his breath, he should have wanted to yell or scream or even curse at his brother, but Sam was right about one thing. He had over three months left and he didn't want to spend it fighting, butting heads. He wanted to be sure _his_ job was done. The promise he made. He let out his breath and looked at Sam, his eyes showing the younger Winchester that this was Dean, this was his brother. He would always protect, always save. Especially when it came to Sam. And Sam knew.

_Dad said that I'd have to save you. And if I couldn't save you, I'd have to kill you._

Sam turned away, feeling flashes of hot, quick anger and guilt rush his body, his face flushed. He refused to look at his brother, refused to give him an apology spoken or seen flooding in his eyes. Most days Dean could read him like a book. So Sam turned away, not wanting to give anything to him.

Dean folded his arms across him and brought them out, laying his enveloped arms across the thin mattress Sam laid on. He turned his head and placed his head down, closing his eyes, feeling the tops of his spiky hair brush against Sam's blankets.

"Dean, there's a bed like two steps behind you," Sam pointed out.

Dean huffed. "Too tired."

"Don't got to sleep here."

"Not gonna sleep, Sam. Just need to rest my eyes."

_And you can't protect me. _Sam's words echoed in his head and Dean remembered looking at him and answering back, _I can try._

He heard Sam mumble something about personal space and then felt his brother's hand lay on his shoulder. Dean didn't jerk it away, he just let it be . Sam was sorry, he could feel it and the rest his eyes needed soon turned into a temporary slumber.

www

He felt a small tug on his shirt. Dean wiped his face across his arms, noticing Sam's hand still lightly pressed on his shoulder. Dean shook it off gently, seeing that Sam had fallen asleep along with him. He felt the tug again and looked over to his right catching sweet innocent eyes of a young girl looking at him, Dean guessed she was five or six. She had short dark hair, drawn up in a blue ribbon and held a plate out with a corn dog and French fries. Dean looked down at the plate and came up with both hands, taking it from her.

"This is for me?" He asked, kindly. He gave her a shy smile and become aware of Sam stirring in the bed next to them.

"Hey," Sam's voice was tired and raspy again, surprised to see they had a visitor.

"Hey," came a voice from the hallway. The brothers looked up to see a dark haired woman standing, holding a plate of toast. She had blue eyes and was enormously pregnant. She smiled at the boys and at the little girl, holding out the plate to the excited child, she pointed to the table next to Sam and directed the girl to place it "over there". She ran over to Sam, skidding to a stop and put the plate on the table for him.

"Thanks," Sam sincerely spoke to the child. "What's your name?"

The little girl gave Sam a smile, showing she was missing a front tooth. "Garnet."

"Garnet?" the brothers said in unison. Sam and Dean looked at one another and then Sam turned back to the child. "That's a very pretty name."

She turned her ankle back and forth, grinning at the younger brother and attempted to move the table closer to him. Sam helped her out and then scooted himself up in the bed on his elbows so he could reach the toast better. Garnet ran back to the woman and wrapped her arms around her legs, giving her a big hug, crushing the woman's thighs against each other.

"Oof!" The woman called out! "Okay, that's enough. Go see what daddy's doing." The little girl held her arms up and the pregnant woman bent down, with great difficulty, and kissed the child on the mouth. "Go." Garnet sprinted down the hallway, her footsteps becoming softer the further she got. The woman turned and smiled at the boys, her cheeks breaking into two deep dimples, flanking her mouth. "Sam and Dean?" She pointed to the brothers, matching their names correctly. "The guys who hunt things, bad things." She gestured to the hall. "The boys out there, they've been talking. They say you guys killed the little Kitsune and are planning on killing the last one." Sam and Dean nodded at her. "I'm Jewel." She rubbed her protruding belly. "And this is Topaz. I thought we should meet."

The boys nodded together. "Garnet and Topaz," Sam commented. "Like…" it suddenly dawned on him, "ah, like the jewels."

Jewel walked in and sat on the stool that Del Bert had sat on earlier in the day. It creaked under her weight as she hoisted herself on to it. "Yeah, my husband is Dave… Diamond Dave, the one with the tattoo." She circled her head with her finger.

Sam shook his head, Dean nodded, looking over to his brother. "Oh, he has this tattoo around his head, kind of like hair, but he doesn't have any of that… on his… head."

Sam frowned. Dean gave him a look.

"Anyway, Diamond Dave, Jewel, we just thought it would be fun to name the kids, you know, the names of stones. We've also got Turquoise, Sapphire, Onyx, and Jade. This one's going to be a boy so I thought Topaz would be nice."

Dean nodded, not sure if he really agreed with their logic. "Yeah, wow, this is your…"

"Sixth."

"Sixth? Kid?" He looked at Sam. "You look so… young. How old are you?"

Jewel flashed him one of her winning smiles. "Twenty-six. I started when I was eighteen."

"Jesus," Dean scoffed. "I'm twenty-seven."

"Twenty-eight." Sam reminded him.

"Whatever. Six kids?"

She nodded. "I know, it's a lot. But it suits us." She looked out the window for a moment. "The snow stopped, but the roads are covered. We're not suppose to get any sun until tomorrow and I don't know how much longer I can keep this baby in me. I keep talking to him, telling him to wait, don't get impatient, just stay right where he is, but at night the pains start and they've been getting worse. I'm so scared." Her eyes flew to the brothers, both staring at her, feeling her words hit them. "I know, six kids, but he is just as important to me as the first one. I can't imagine what I would do, what I would become if anything happened to him. To any of them. I need them all."

It was the plea of a mother and they more than felt it. They took it in, made it their own. It didn't happen very often, a person standing in front of them pleading for their help. By the time anyone usually wanted their help, they were already running for their lives, screaming for two knight and shining armors to come and rescue them. It was rare that they already had the victim-to-be standing in front of them, calmly aware of what could happen, what could be. Her eyes were much more different than what they were use to, still, sad… helpless and hopeful all at the same time. The fact that she was so full of life wasn't helping the Winchesters from feeling the wrench they were experiencing in the pit of their stomachs.

Sam cleared his throat, allowing himself one glance at his brother. Dean was still staring at the pregnant woman, his eyes glossy. "Yeah," Sam started, "your baby is important to us, too. We want him… both of you, to be safe. You're both our priority."

Jewel nodded, smiling back. She blinked and two small tears fell down her face. She quickly reached up and wiped them away. "Oh, hormones," she lied and jumped down from the stool. "Thanks. It was nice meeting you both." She motioned to Dean. "Your fries are getting cold." She turned to walk out and then turned back to them. "But, they're better cold." She smiled again and disappeared from the frame.

Dean looked down at the plate, he reached down and picked up a fry and chomped on it. He swallowed it down and took a drink of the water Fish had poured for Sam. "Damn," he said, looking at his brother, "that is one good cold French fry."

www

Del Bert had brought Dean's baby up the hill. It had taken the big man over two hours to get it all the way up, his tow truck tracking a mile and sliding back down half a mile. The snow had stopped, but had topped at 21 inches, John Joe reported. The ice that fell was under the snow and mixed in with the blankets, phone lines were down, they never really got good cell phone coverage and things were still very cold.

Dean met Del outside the clinic, staring as the Impala was drug by him. She looked like shit, her front end was crumpled, stained with blood from the Kitsune, snow caked all sides of her. Dean swore he could hear her calling out for help. He hadn't seen her look like that, well, since the accident. It had taken him two weeks to get her back on her feet after that. He gulped and met Del Bert's eyes, the large man smiling at the elder Winchester.

"It's been a long time since I've had one in this condition," he remarked. "What a beauty."

Dean realized then that the condition he was talking about was how respectful he had always been to his car, loving it, taking as good as care of her as she did him.

"I'll get her goin'," he continued on, "Me and my boy, we need something like this right now. Tired of doing oil changes and rotatin' tires."

Dean shook his head. Del Bert was actually looking forward to this, he laughed to himself.

Sam had been up walking in the hallway, slowly strolling around the clinic. He had stopped at the ice cream parlor and looked at the menu chalked on the over head board, stating the flavors of ice cream they had to serve. The grocery store adjacent to it was very small, displaying only necessities for life - milk, bread, butter, toilet paper –simple things until someone was able to make it to a bigger town for supplies. His side ached, but he only took the Vicodin. The pull from the stitches made him itch and it was hard for him to keep his fingernails from clawing at the site. The last glove Fish Sticks had removed still had fluid in it, but there was less, filling the fingers up about half full. Fish had shook his head at Sam when he begged him to pull it out. He'd give him until morning, but the medic thought it would still be at least another day before they could remove it.

The night had met them quickly, Sam had fallen asleep first, exhausted from fighting to stay awake all afternoon. The pain had affected him more than he wanted to let on, the walk had left him short of breath more than once, but he had stopped, commenting about Jewel's kids eating ice cream when it was below zero outside and while Dean made wise cracks, Sam was able to compose himself. He couldn't let his brother see his weakness right now, he wouldn't let him see. This time it was Sam's turn to save Dean and they were running out of time and stuck in the snow. They had ate dinner out in the parlor and retreated back to the small room shortly after, Fish checking Sam's vitals, letting Dean redress his forehead. The radio played quietly in the background, making up for the silence that had settled between the two hunters.

_I was bruised and battered, and I couldn't tell what I felt. I was unrecognizable to myself. Saw my reflection in a window, I didn't know my own face. Oh brother are you gonna leave me wasting away on the streets of Philadelphia._

"Have you heard any Aerosmith on this station?" Dean complained.

"It's Springsteen, man" Sam replied.

"This is not Springsteen."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, it is, Dean. From that movie."

"This is not Rosie come out tonight Springsteen this is Born in the U.S.A. Springsteen. After he became a sell out. This station sucks."

"It's eclectic." Sam yawned.

_Ain't no angel gonna greet me, it's just you and I my friend... _"It's pathetic, is what it is." Dean snapped. His brother couldn't help it, Sam realized. His baby was smashed, he was like a caged animal in this room, the weather wasn't helping his mood and he had no classic rock to keep his beat, keep him in rhythm.

They worked mostly at night, but neither preferred it. They actually liked the day, the light, the sun. People weren't usually afraid of things that went bump in the day. But since the collision with the Kitsune, the night had been a welcome change for the boys - sleep. Something they didn't normally get the chance to catch up on. Dean's head had hit his pillow and he was out, falling into his dreams. He had turned the radio off, with a curse word, turned the lights off and had climbed onto the small hospital bed, with his body sticking to the thin mattress below.

"Dad. No, Dad."

Dean's eyes flew open and he turned his body around. Through the shades of gray that lie between them, he could see Sam's arm, extended out into the air, his hand clenched in a fist. Dean eased himself up on his elbows, he could make out some of Sam's features from where he lay, his lips were pushed out, his eye brows coming together. "God dammit…"

"Sam." Dean's voice was low, calm.

"Dean." He was still caught in his dream.

"Sam, I'm here, you gotta open your eyes." Dean sat up more.

"Dad!" Sam screamed out. "I said **NO!**" Sam's voice caught on the last word, his voice breaking into a growl. Dean felt his skin crawl, his heart quicken.

"Sam!" he hollered and started the throw his legs over the side of the bed when he heard Sam gasp and is upper body elevated off the bed, falling to his right side on his elbow. Dean froze on the side of the mattress, looking at his brother, his face twisted and lost. Dean waited a few seconds, watching as the young man recognized where he was, who he was and Dean felt his back hunch forward a little. "Sam," his voice was much softer this time.

Sam's eyes darted up and rested on Dean's. "What?" Irritation weaved through his vocal cords.

Dean shrugged. He climbed back under the covers and pulled them up. "Forget it."

"What do you want? You woke me up."

Dean sighed. "Dude, you were dreaming."

Sam sneered at his brother's direction. "Yeah, well I was sleeping. That's usually what happens."

Dean shut his eyes and shook his head. "Yeah, well you were giving me a play by play of your dream. I had to wake you up, you were keeping me awake."

There was silence from the other side of the room and then Sam simply breathed, "Oh."

Dean tossed in the bed, the sheets strangulating his calves. He kicked at them, reached up and tried to straighten them back out again. He could feel the tension quietly drape itself between the two beds, ridiculing them both as it greedily consumed words they wouldn't say to one another. Of course, in the black of night things have a way of appearing different than they do during the day. Sam sighed in his bed, the jerk of the tension gnawing at him, but it was masked by frustration. The frustration that they were stuck with only a little of three months left and the man felt helpless in his promise to save his brother. Dean felt the tension mount, building towns, skyscrapers all around his body but it was masked by guilt. Guilt he carried with him every day to save his brother, protect his brother, don't let wooden stakes fly through the air and strike your brother.

Sam sighed again. "Dean?"

One skyscraper collapsed. "Yeah, Sam?"

"You know, Dad made it out of the gates." His voice sounded so much younger than he was.

Dean nodded in the darkness. "Yeah, it looked like he did. He looked free." He remembered his dad's expression, staring at his sons, the pride behind his eyes, tearful.

"Do you ever think… Dad is going to, you know, change?" Sam turned his head in the direction of the opposite bed.

Dean swallowed hard. "I dunno, Sammy."

Sam waited, hoping there was more. But there wasn't. Dean didn't know. No one knew. Sam felt a hitch in his breath and a stab of pain burn down his side. It felt icy hot and he hissed between his teeth.

"Is that what you've been dreaming about?" Dean's voice filtered over.

"What?" Sam asked, breathing again, short and shallow.

"About Dad. Last night you called out for him, but I thought it was because you were… sick. But then right before I woke you up, you were dreaming about him again, but you were mad." He ended his sentence with a sharp tone.

Sam shook his head. He knew that Dean thought Sam was _always_ mad at his Dad, but that wasn't the case. Not really. It just seemed that the anger was what Dean remembered the most. "I dream…" Sam stopped, second guessing himself, "I dream that Dad turns into something bad. Something we have to fight." He was telling the truth, just not the whole part. He didn't want to talk about how their Dad fought with Sam, taking Dean into the black beyond that Sam wasn't allowed to go. Not allowed to follow.

"We don't have to fight Dad, Sam. You saw him, he still remembers what it's like to be human. He can still end up free, maybe redeem himself." Dean tried to sound reassuring but he didn't believe Sam bought it. He didn't know if he bought it himself.

"What if I can't save you…"

"_We_, Sam. _We_ have to save me."

"Yeah, well, what if _we_ can't save you. What if you go to Hell and become something else. Something that comes back and I have to fight you, send you back."

The city of tension had left Dean and the layers of tension were snapping from the blankets separating them. It was so simple to diffuse and yet so hard to get to that place. Dean closed his eyes, a quick reminder of his own mind's eye flashed behind his lids. He remembered what he was to become in Hell. His face streaked with scarlet, deep black eyes, his voice, only darker, his body, only stronger, sadder, hollow, lonelier, without... "That's a lot of ifs, Sam."

"I know, but it's what I've been dreaming about."

"Just dreams, right? Not visions?" Dean asked cautiously.

Sam shook his head. "No, not visions. Just dreams. Bad dreams." His voice trailed a bit.

"Everyone has bad dreams…"

"I mean, don't you think it's ironic?" Sam sounded strained, Dean looked over to him, Sam's face looking back in the gray, his eyes dancing at his brother, needing an answer. "You and Dad always fought to save me from going darkside and Dad ends up in Hell and now you… you're going to Hell, too. I'm the one that was suppose to have a one way express ticket but both of you are the ones riding the roller coaster down under."

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean barked out. "You weren't just suppose to go to Hell, you were suppose to lead some Goddamn army of… creepy crawly things to take over world domination!"

Sam laid quiet for a minute and then let out a laugh. "World domination?" He laughed again.

Dean's scrunched face started to lift little, turning up and then breaking out into a grin. He laughed back. "Well, yeah. You're a regular Dr. Evil, I guess."

Sam laughed, grabbing his side. "Ow," he said and laughed again. "If I'm Dr. Evil, you're Fat Bastard. Jerk."

Dean laughed back. "Bitch."

There was a tippety-tap at the window and Dean turned his head in the direction, peering outside as best as he could. Snow and wind. It blew hard against the glass, grasping a branch, rapping it against the window. The moon in the background seemed to quiver from the outside elements, raged from the blinding flurries. Dean sighed and relaxed back into the bed. "Sorry, man," he said, the laughter subsiding from him.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Sam asked, quietly regaining himself, his hand placed on his side to keep the tube from pulling against his skin.

Dean glanced over again, Sam was looking back, the light from the moon glittering through the window and making his brother's face beam back, easy to see. "Vampires."

Sam smiled, his face soft. "No more fucking vampires, man."

Dean nodded. "I didn't see that one."

Sam locked his eyes with Dean. "I know."

"I missed it."

"'S'okay. Really."

Dean felt the sincerity, knew his brother meant what he said. "I should have…" He stopped. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Sam, noticing the shadow that started to waif over his brother's face in the soft moonlight. It moved like a person would, shadowing Sam's features, but Dean could see his brother's eyes widen with terror as the tippety-tap, tippety-tap behind him on the window grew louder. Dean turned his head upward and saw her dark hair whipping in the wind. Her dusky eyes seemed to look at both brothers at the same time, the smoky white skin pressed taught against her cheeks, her lips full and bright crimson dripping from them as she opened her mouth and shrieked, shocking the boys' ears, horror gripping their chests, rattling the window between them. She pressed her face onto the glass and screamed at them in Arikara:

"Hunahatk na hunax!"

**Translation**: Hunahatk na hunax - Lost and found!

**Song List:**_ Streets of Philadelphia_ from Bruce Springsteen

**A/N: **Okay, now we head into Chapters 4 and 5 (which are my husband's favorite because guns and knives come into play)! Let's see if the brothers can bring the bitch down!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Thanks again for all your comments, LOVE THEM! This chapter is not as long as the previous, we will have to see what transpires with the boys, the snow, that thing out there, etc. The story will be complete with a total of six chapters. So hang on to your knives, you might need 'em.

**Chapter Four – The Bitch is Back**

The Kitsune darted away from the icy window, her eyes narrowing on the brothers, beckoning them to come outside to dance with her, pitting sides, her against them, in a midnight marauder. Her shrieks filled the cold night air for all to hear and take warning. She moved fast, barely leaving tracks in the snow underneath her. She was stealth and lean and hungry.

Dean had thrown the covers off his body in a lump on the bed, his body jumping from the small mattress. He still had his jeans clad to his body and a white t-shirt on his torso. He reached for his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head in a clumsy battle with the clock. Racing footsteps sounded from the small hallway, two of them bumbling over one another and Dean felt Fish Sticks and John Joes' bodies halt at the opening of the doorway.

"Cheese and rice, it's here," John Joe's voice scraped, dread saturating the words.

Dean tugged the sweatshirt down and looked in the bearded man's direction. "Is Jewel… is she here? Is she having the baby?"

Fish looked back at Dean, terror oozing behind his dark orbs. "No, it's come for you."

Dean knew "you" meant "us" and his eyes flew to Sam who had already pushed himself off the bed dressed only in his checkered sleeping pants and a Frank Zappa t-shirt. He was holding his left side close to him and began gently unzipping his duffel with his right.

"Sam, get back in bed," Dean ordered. He didn't use his big brother voice, he deepened it from his gut, drew his biggest John voice and commanded Sam to stop what he was doing.

But Sam was always good at ignoring orders from John and even better at arguing with Dean. "No."

Dean narrowed his eyes, moving across the room to their weapons. He reached in and started rummaging down into the canvas. "You're Goddamn broken, Sam. You're hurt and I can't watch you out there." There was no response from his brother. Dean felt around, quickly… rifle, salt rounds, machete, sawed-off, Bowie knife… "You're not going." Dean turned around, loading the rifle and throwing it over his shoulder, placing the knife on the bed, trying to make room for the machete across his back.

Sam stared at the weapons on the other side of Dean. He glanced up at his brother, seeing the look in his eyes, knowing he couldn't get past him. "Fine," he cracked defiantly. "I'll use my hands."

Dean signaled towards the medic, standing next to the counter. "Fish, you got some of that sleeping stuff? I think it's time for Sammy to take a nap."

Fish Sticks mouth gaped open, his eyes widened with surprise. He took a quick glimpse down to the counter. Picking it up, the unused Dilaudid was still drawn up from the morning, rolling it back and forth under in fingers.

Sam shook his head to Dean. "Don't."

Dean braced his stare right back. "No. You don't."

They were bolted for a few seconds in glares across the open space. Both chests heaving, both hearts quickened, adrenaline pumping through their ears. A cry started high in the night outside the clinic, sharp like a child repulsed by madness, mixed with stridence from the glee of an animal making purchase with it's prey. She was taunting them, her scream from afar and then closer, screeching high and then even higher, their ears ringing with the vibration long after she had finished.

"Go ahead, Fish," Dean directed.

Sam reached up with his right hand and grabbed the IV from his inner elbow, ripping the tape from his skin and removing the catheter in one swift movement. A fat bead of blood surfaced immediately at the opening and rained down in a feverish dance running the length of his arm, ending in numerous drips from his fingertips to the white vinyl below.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean mumbled. He turned from his brother and reached out with his arms, pushing the contents off the countertop to the side in one swipe, smashing them to the floor, missing Fish Sticks by inches. Dean grabbed the corner of the counter and turned back around to face his brother.

Sam had added another t-shirt, covering Frank Zappa and was sitting back on the bed lacing up his right boot, his left boot already tied in a pretty bow.

"Goddammit, Sam, I swear to God if you even think about taking one step out there I'm gonna…"

Sam stood up and reached for his coat. "What, Dean, you gonna kill me?"

Silence fell in the room. Dean felt his body lurch for a brief second, anger sparked in the pit of his stomach surging out through his arms and settling in his hands, fisting them at once. _One shot, right in the jaw, you deserve it_. Dean closed his eyes, letting the heat leave him in short piercing breaths. He could feel the shifting of the two Arikara in the room, sizing up the situation, not understanding what meaning the words took with them. Dean felt his chest tighten and release, the squeeze of his heart as he took in a final breath before opening his eyes. He wanted to try a different tactic, be an understanding brother, try to reason, but the Kitsune was screaming, teasing them with her shrill: "Inaani, ahtakoowaa suxtlt!"

Dean heaved towards Sam, grabbing his coat in his fists and forcefully pushing him against the wall of the clinic. Sam's head knocked into the plaster and bounced back, his brother in his face, pushing him harder. "Goddammit, Sam!"

Sam's arms came up the middle of them, pushing to separate his brother from his body, thrusting his hands into fists and ramming Dean away from him.

"You stay!" Dean snarled. He stumbled backwards from the force of Sam's pushes, catching himself on the bed as he fell. He looked at Sam, watching as his brother slid down the wall, collapsing on the floor under him. He landed harshly on the cold vinyl crying out as the chest tube slammed into him from the force of hitting the surface. The glove dislodged and exploded into a pinky color quickly puddling beside him.

Dean stared, his eyes widening, he felt his breath escape him and then return within a second. The room swayed, tilted in a rainbow of colors, swirling like a lollipop and then he started breathing again. He saw Sam's eyes redden, brimmed with tears and Dean realized that his brother _was_ broken, shattered. And he had thrown the first stone.

"Sam," Dean tried faintly.

Sam's eyes rushed up to meet Dean's, hot with shiny rage and emotion. "I hate you."

Dean swallowed. He didn't mean it. He blinked twice at the younger man and saw the anger in Sam, the swell of something inside that Dean couldn't see. He felt his face tighten, his eyes constrict and his heart plummet. "Good," he answered contented, ""Cause I hate you, too."

The elder Winchester turned from the heap that was his brother on the floor and directed his attention to Fish Sticks and John Joe. The older men had been quiet, moving away from the brothers as emotions erupted and words exploded. They felt like odd men out, witnessing something they did not understand, layers they were not privy to, stories they could not even begin to dream were true. Promises made on heavy hearts pulling, tugging, ripping fabrics of ties that bind. The Arikaras were focused enough, though, that they wanted to get this job done. End the Kitsune's reign tonight before she claimed another life amongst their people or anyone else's for that matter. Dean had experience in these kind of things, they knew, hunted things in fairy tales, weapons of destruction that could kill, not just restrain. The men listened to the plan to go out the front, split up, circling the clinic, the call they could use, each one of them having a blade, Dean volunteering to be bait, to get her close enough to decapitate her. It was a solid plan and Dean would have two other people with him in the snow, men who were use to this creature, use to the terrain. He sighed, satisfied and turned around to grab his Bowie and leave the room. He'd check on Sam when they returned, have Fish make sure he was okay, tend to what demons he was wrestling internally with and then… to apologize. He turned reluctantly to steal a quick look at Sam before he headed out, to be sure he was breathing, that his color was good. Dean's eyes flicked to the wall where Sam had slumped down against. All that was left was the broken glove surrounded by pink liquid.

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean shouted. His eyes followed the pink trail on the white vinyl around the bed and out the doorway. Dean hitched the machete across his back, the rifle laying on top of it grooving together like peanut butter and jelly. He reached for his Bowie knife and came back empty handed. He closed his eyes for a second. "Sonuvafuckingbitch!"

The front door's customer bell rang as someone pulled the door open and then shut hard, the chime clanking through the clinic to Dean's ears. "Sam!" he bellowed. Dean pushed past the men, down the small corridor moving swiftly in long strides and made it to the front door, jerking it back roughly, the bell jingling unsteadily under Dean's hard pull. He stepped out into the brunette of the night, the snow crunching under his boots. His head whipped to the left, to the right and straight ahead. Sam was no where to be seen. There were foot prints everywhere in the snow making it hard to decipher in the night which one's were Sam's against the earlier travelers of the day. Dean squinted but under the moonlight it was near impossible to detect a small trace of blood tinged fluid dripping in the snow. Dean glared into the tree lines to his left, the mountains to his right.

"**SAM!"**

www

Sam held his breath as Dean had turned from him, his attention to the two Arikara back in the clinic. He watched as his older brother explained his plan, made sure they had weapons and volunteered himself as the main course. Sam's side was on fire, the heat radiating up to his head, out towards his hands. He pressed his right hand against the tube and scooted away from the wall, crawling silently on his knees and his left hand. He stopped at the end of the bed, reaching up and grabbing the hilt of the knife and then tucking it into the waistband of his sleeping pant. He quietly crawled the rest of the way out the door until he made it into the hallway. He used the wall, pushing himself up, cringing against the pull, blowing through the pain and moved as fast as he could to the front door. He could hear the commotion behind him as Dean noticed his brother was no longer in the room, he felt the anxiety in his voice and found a shameful burst of joy inside of him. He opened the door, using it as leverage to get his legs moving fast through the snow. He aimed himself straight ahead, thick trees where he could see what move Dean made, where he knew he could hide in plain sight. This was the place where he knew the Kitsune would find him. He was the lone antelope, split from the herd, the one dripping with liquid, injured and he knew he was an easy target for her. He watched as the front door open, Dean stomping onto the snow, his head turning both ways, searching with his eyes as far as they see.

"**Sam!"**

Sam felt a lump in his throat, his hands trembled a little and he almost stood up, almost ran towards his brother. Almost apologized. Dean pointed to the left to John Joe and Fish and Dean took off towards the right. Sam swallowed, watching as his brother eased his way around the clinic. Sam turned and started to move into the trees, the branches snapping under his feet, his boots sinking into random snow drifts. His walk started to become a climb as the terrain steepened and Sam felt the fluid from his side leak and warm juice run down his leg.

The Kitsune smelled him before he ever came out the door, she tracked him before he ever took a step, she planned her attack before he ever decided to leave the small room. She was in the tree line, dead ahead, her skin taut, pulled so tight she tore a gash in her cheek when she had screamed out earlier. It rolled down her bone, meeting her lips and dripping off of her chin. She licked her lips as Sam Winchester came into her sight, her eyes instinctively contracting, her pupils widening deep black, her brown irises disappearing into the dark. She crouched into a semi-ball, waiting to pounce as he made his way to her trap, her thick unkempt tail swishing sharply from side to side in anticipation. She allowed her fingers to morph, ripping, tearing, blood seeping as long claws released from her human fingernails. A tickle formed in her throat and it released into the air like a cat meowing in heat.

Sam stopped. His ears suddenly on high alert, he had heard the odd animal-like sound and he froze. He circled his head around the brush he was in, his legs sunk in the snow up to his calves, his knees wobbling on the slope. He gripped the hilt tightly in his grasp and held the knife away from him, the silver glinting in the moonlight.

The Kitsune waited for him, watching him with curiosity. He wavered, she saw his knees give, her eyes caught the blade of the knife and then the quiver of his hand as he held it. She smiled. It didn't matter if he was trembling from the cold or from fear, he was weak. She turned her nose up into the air and whiffed the young Winchester, taking in his scent. Her heart raced and she took a powerful step forward, wanting him to hear the snap of the twigs beneath her. She adored the smell of fear.

Sam took a step backwards on the hill, trying to find the same spot his feet had traveled as he had climbed up. He felt his boot sink into the snow and started on his other foot, moving it slightly behind him as he slowly attempted to descend the small mountain rearward. He glanced behind his shoulder, seeing trees and branches blocking his view, but the faint picture of lights glowed back to him from the village.

The Kitsune's ears perked up as she watched Sam begin to disappear from her sight. She twitched her nose and smacked her lips, digging her sharp claws into the icy snow. He was trying to run. Silly boy. She took in a deep breath and released it in a high pitched trill, catching her notes on the back of her throat in a curdling scream. She rose on her legs, permitting her thighs to thicken, feeling her skin turn to fuzz followed by a short, prickly pelt. She gave away her hiding spot, Sam's eyes fixating on her converting form, his face in awe, disgust, his body still making the slow journey down the slope. She abruptly barked at him, causing him to bring his hands up to cover his ears. Her shriek was painfully deafening. She leaned forward, readying her body to molest her soon to be victim, bringing her eyes level with Sam's, catching his blue-green color as she soaked in the colors of his aura. Sam stared back at her and she opened her mouth and exhaled, _"Kaawitahts inaani!"_

Sam twisted his body around, his long legs moving in what felt like slow motion back down the grade. He wobbled, losing his balance as he started to slide on the rocks below his feet. He reached his hand out, trying to keep balance against the factors that surrounded him. He felt his side heave with wetness and his t-shirt seemed to stick to his lanky body.

The Kitsune watched in delight as the young hunter ran, slid, fell in front of her. She licked her paw, sucking on the end of her claws as she geared herself up. She planted her hind feet, drew her upper body in and sprang from her position high on the hill. She dashed down the incline in two long strides, her body lengthening and retracting quickly, her muscles working effortlessly as she achieved her target mid-air. Her claws expanded, reaching out and with one ferocious swipe she gauged into Sam's back, forcing her claws down through his jacket, beyond his t-shirt, her wild eyes catching the scarlet that started to pucker up against his milky flesh. The force caused the young man to fall, toppling forward, rolling into a ball and tumble most of the way down the rocky hill. The Kitsune landed on her hind legs, moving rapidly around the brush out of the way of the boy's rolling body.

Sam wished he could say that he didn't know what had hit him, but he knew. It was a blood thirsty soul stealing animal and he felt her claws tear into him, his back sizzling from the burn. He had wanted to cry out, his eyes had automatically closed from the bite of the pain and before he realized it, he was falling, his body making contact with the snow, the ice, the rocks. He felt his shoulder slam into something hard as he plummeted down the hill on this stomach and landed somehow on his back. The oxygen had long left his body before he had made his graceful plunge down the slopes. He lay now, gasping for air, his chest rising and falling in short pants, his eyes opened in small slits of blue-green staring into the night sky. He wanted to push himself from the snow, but only his brain was working that far ahead. His body was crumpled, broken, shattered. He swallowed hard. Dean had been right.

The Kitsune stood on her hind legs and walked over to her quarry, still breathing, but most definitely belonging to her now. She crept up, scoping first with her hands, her claws withdrawn exposing now knarly fingers, rubbing up against Sam's cheek. She stroked down to his chin and pulled his face towards her where their eyes met and Sam was stunned, dreamlessly caught in her stare. She gazed at him, his aura spun brilliant colors of blue-green, entwining reds and oranges and highlighted by golden yellow around his head. This man was truly special, so much magic emanating from him. The Kitsune gasped as her eyes dazzled at the sight. His soul was powerful, a true wonder to this world and she could barely contain herself with excitement. She turned opened Sam's mouth in one sudden flick of her hand and drew herself near, sucking a hint of his essence. _Delicious_. She felt her eyes constrict and her skin warmed to the sensation. She prepared herself to devour. Her fingers singed to black and dark jagged claws reappeared. Her fur ruffled as her brawny arm flew up, intending to smack into Sam's chest with one quick sweep, taking his soul from him through his quintessence and his blood she would take from his beating heart.

Sam's eyes broadened in horror, his eyes flew to the Kitsune's claws. His back burned reminding him of pain that was to come. His hand reached behind him, fumbling for the hilt of the Bowie. His side blazed as his arm reached further behind, his fingertips just grazing the steel that he so desperately needed.

He heard the cracking of branches next to his right as Sam's hands finally grabbed hold of the knife, slowly pulling it from his waistband. His eyes diverted to the brush next to him, praying he would see his brother racing to his side. Instead, his eyes narrowed, sweat broke out on his forehead, his heart jumped in his chest. Crawling next to him, low to the ground was a young Kitsune, covered in fur, large ears, human eyes, skin on his cheekbones and short fur covering his animal-like body. Sam could see his mammoth tail wagging behind him as he approached his soon-to-be-meal for the night.

The female Kitsune dropped her extended arm, growling to the male, summoning him to Sam's side. She drew her claw up to Sam's face and sliced down his cheek, as red followed behind. Sam opened his mouth and screamed out. The female lowered her head and took a small lick from the wound and then met her offspring's eyes, gesturing him to do the same. The creature cautiously crept across Sam's body and bent over, his tongue darting out, lapping the blood drizzling from his cheek.

Sam closed his eyes, the feel of the animals hovering his body, tickling his skin made his stomach turn and heave. He strengthened his clutch on the hilt and fiercely brought it around from his body. The small male stepped back from Sam's slumped form as the young Winchester brought his fist up, blade extended and pushed it into the smaller Kitsune's chest wall. The child and mother screamed together, high pitched, pain filled. Sam excavated the knife, pushing himself up and plunged it back in, hitting the male in it's neck, twisting the blade like a crank, feeling bones snap inside the creature. The female shrieked this time alone as Sam felt the smaller Kitsune's windpipe crush. Her shriek turned into a roar as the fur on her body rose to razors and she crouched down, ready to strike, to end this massacre of her family.

The blast hit her, shaking her back into the snow. It hurt, curdling her into a ball. Sam pulled the knife from the smaller animal and turned the hilt to its side, slicing into the young's neck, filleting it open until it detached from it's petite body. He heard the reload of a shotgun and looked up to see Dean taking aim again and firing into the female. She screeched back, falling further into the brush and snow, disappearing as her cries flew through the night sky.

Dean looked down at Sam, drenched in blood from the tiny monster. "Holy shit," he managed. He glowered into the trees where the Kitsune had escaped. "Damn, she's got balls!"

Sam looked up at him, his hands shaking, stained red, stained forever, and he felt his body fall back into the cold comfort behind him.

"Sam!" Dean rushed the small distance between them, lifting Sam's shoulders from the snow, he shook him once. "Open your eyes, Sam. Please, I can't carry you down the hill." He shook him again.

Sam felt his head bob forward and his eyes flew open, looking down, focusing on the slaughtered animal at his feet. _God, did I do that?_ He pushed away from the blood and bones, feeling like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. Dean grabbed hold of his upper arms and gripped. "Sam, stop. Stop!"

Dean's voice broke into Sam's head like a welcoming sunburn. He looked over at his brother and pulled away. "Let go of me," he stated his voice annoyed, hurt, guilty. He turned to let his body fall on his knees and then attempted to push up to walk the rest of the way on his own.

Dean had let him go, let him work it out on his own. He cringed when he saw the blood on his brother's back, he hissed as he listened to him trying to gulp breaths into his body. He wished he could pick him up, hoist him over his shoulder and carry him to safety. But they weren't kids anymore.

He pointed the butt of the gun in the direction he had plowed up, his footsteps trampled over the fresh snow.

"I know where down is," Sam retorted.

Dean stopped his progression, waited for Sam who felt his brother's body halt. "What is it, Sasquatch?"

Sam turned. "Sasquatch? I'm the Sasquatch?"

"Technically, you're a dick."

"A dick?" Sam's eyebrows raised.

"Well, you're being one. I'm not gonna fight you."

"A dick?" Sam repeated.

"I'm not your enemy."

"I know. You're my brother."

"Then why don't you start treating me like it?"

Sam was silent for a moment. He looked up towards the older hunter, puppy dog eyes hitting him head on. His face smoothed for a second, his voice quaked. "We have to get out of here. We have to get back on the road. We have to kill this thing so I can… so we can save you."

"Sam, we're not going anywhere. Not tonight. We don't have a car. And you're not in any condition…" he stopped, watching his brother's eyes fly away from him. "You can't do it all."

Sam glared back. "And neither can you."

Dean blinked at him. "Look, I'm just trying to get the job done and keep you safe in the process…"

"I know what you're trying to do, Dean. I get it, okay?"

"Couple of days, Sammy and then we'll be back on soul saving patrol. But this… we've got souls to save here, too. Yours. Mine. A baby." He gestured down the hill. "Hell, the whole damn town. They all need saving."

"Well, let me help." Sam's eyes were pleading.

"Dude, what you did, how you left… that didn't help." Dean rested on the gun. "You can't just take off and leave me wondering…"

"What, Dean? And you can? You're gonna leave me. You're gonna leave me in three months. It's a death sentence. For both of us."

Sam turned and started to walk the rest of the way down the slope. The snow engulfed his legs as he proceeded down like quick sand trying to snuff his life out. He could feel the heat from his frustration and it didn't help with his descent. He wanted Dean to tell him it was okay, that he needed his help –injured or not. He wanted him to tell Sam he could save him – broken or not. That he wouldn't leave him in a clinic while his brother was out fighting soul stealers. That he wouldn't leave him alone in three months, paying his own soul's price for Sam's.

Dean followed closely behind, keeping the concern that burned inside of his gut shut in an air-tight container. The brothers were a lot alike and they were very different. Dean was black and white. Right and wrong. He knew what side he was on. Almost always he knew, without a doubt. Sam had been that once – before Yellow Eyes, before Cold Oak. Before he knew his possible future was so bright he had to wear shades. Now Dean saw a change in Sam. His brother wasn't so quick to stand on the side of right. _They're human_. He wouldn't have ever sacrificed an innocent person before, but back in Monument he was willing to offer up a willing soul for a get out of Hell free card. _No way I'm not going to let that demon kill some poor sweet innocent little girl, who hasn't even been laid_. For Dean there hadn't even been a choice. Black and white. Right and wrong. Even if she was willing, that didn't make it just. Moral. And Dean always had good morals, good values, good core.

And Sam. Sam lived in the gray now. He was torn apart and Dean knew it wasn't his flesh or his lungs that he had to worry about and protect anymore.

Dean kept the sawed-off in his arms, prepped ready. He knew the rock salt had only stung the Kitsune, slowed her down, maimed her, but she was most definitely alive and now pissed. He watched Sam struggle down the rest of the hill, his legs seeming to sink with weary as they started walking straight through the snow, headed towards the lights of the village. The brothers could seen men, scanning the perimeter, running back and forth from the clinic through the snowy streets. Billy Mac was on the snowmobile, casing the tree lines, snow kicking back from the force of the movement. They were on high alert, on watch. A finger pointed from the stocky kid Dean had met before followed by an excited, "There they are!"

The townspeople started trudging through the snow towards the two mystery strangers they had all affectionately adopted. Del Bert was one of the first to reach them, his large legs walloping the snow as he moved. Dean pointed at Sam with the base of the gun. "Get him to Fish," his voice rumbled. He felt sweat rolling down his face and his nose was starting to run from the cold.

Del Bert reached over and put his strong arm around Sam and let the younger man lean on him as they made it through the street, the crowd parting as they met the steps of the clinic. Together they took each step up until the warmth from the inside greeted them like smoke from a wood burning stove.

Dean followed quietly behind, breaching the door and slamming it shut behind him, leaving grateful faces behind. Del Bert had Sam through the back door and had started down the corridor. Fish Sticks met them half way, taking Sam's other side and easing him into the small room. The door opened and John Joe walked out, motioning for Dean to stay in the ice cream parlor. Fish thought it would be best, keep they brothers separated for the time being, let him check the injured one out first and let Dean rest. Give them space, John Joe had explained. He'd come back and get Dean when the medic was ready. Dean didn't disagree with the older man, but he didn't give his permission, either. Instead, his body did the talking for him and he collapsed onto one of the small diner chairs in the black and white checked parlor. His arms fell loosely to his side, exhaustion overwhelming him.

_It got away. Jesus, we have to go back out there_. He shut his eyes, thinking about Sam back on the table again, Fish scolding him for ruining his patch up job. _Don't get mad at me. I had to look out for you. That's my job! _Dean felt a hitch in his breathing, he'd almost failed, almost lost Sam, again. And Sam didn't care, didn't seem to. He was mad, so mad at Dean…

"Your brother okay?"

Dean's head wrenched up. He let out a low mumble, a long sigh released behind it as a very pregnant Jewel sat down across from him. She smiled sweetly, her dimples shining at the older Winchester. Dean smiled back, concern across his face. "You okay? You're not…" he motioned with his hands.

Jewel laughed. "No, I'm not in labor… yet." She paused a moment. "I wish I would, though, it would be better to get it over with tonight. Everyone is here. I guess this is as best of conditions as any."

Dean nodded, noting the activity still occurring outside the clinic. He glanced over and saw Jewel's children sprawled around the grocery store, blankets laying on them as they slept. She followed Dean's eyes and watched her brood sleeping. "We heard the Kitsune and got scared. When we saw everyone running towards the clinic, we just figured that this would be the safest place for the night."

Dean looked away, not saying anything. He was beginning to wonder if there were really any safe places. Could he keep anyone safe anymore? He couldn't even keep the one person her swore to keep safe, let alone a mother and her baby. A town. It was impossible.

He felt Jewel's large eyes on him, staring quietly. He wanted to say something to her, but he was all out of words. The gun lay loosely in his hands, the unused machete dug into his back. He felt… defeated.

"Defeated?" she questioned.

Dean looked up to her. "What?"

"You just said, you were defeated."

_Jesus, did I say that out loud?_ Dean shrugged his shoulder towards her.

Jewel twisted her fingers on a small bracelet circling her wrist, it was beaded in pretty clear stones, probably representing the birth months of her children, Dean thought. Hell, in her case, probably represented the children's names. "You know, I'm a descendent of the Arikara tribe. My Great Grandmother was a shaman."

"Grandmother?" Dean asked with some interest. "I thought shaman were men."

Jewel shook her head. "No, not always. Shaman males are very wise, they can cure and heal and sometimes cause harm when they need to. Shaman females, they are also wise, they can heal, but they have sight as well."

"What, like ESP?"

She nodded. "Kind of. My Grandmother said her mother could sense things, feel things. She knew things no one else did. She could see people's pasts and their futures and helped them with their present. When Dave and I came here with my father, I thought this was the furthest place I wanted to be, but here I found that I sense things, see things."

Dean was staring at her now, his eyes full of light, reflecting in her orbs back at him. He shifted away from her invisible hold and pulled his body in, almost protecting himself from her.

"I can see your frustration," Jewel had lowered her voice to a whisper, allowing only Dean's ears to hear her. "You feel ashamed, like you are failing someone." She paused and then, to Dean's horror said, "Your brother? Your father?"

"Okay," the hunter pushed his palm out to stop her. "Okay, thanks, that's enough… insight."

Jewel sank back onto the spindles of the diner chair. She knew when her gift was wanted and when she had pushed too much. She twisted the bangles on her bracelet and kept her eyes down. The girth from her belly shifted in a wave and the baby released a mighty kick from the inside, the joy only his mother could feel.

"Are those stones for your kids?" Dean asked, trying to ease the tension between the two.

She smiled back. "Oh, no." She held her arm up to him so he could have a better look. "There actually charms, etchings on the stones. They represent different things – temperance, silence, sincerity, justice…"

"Virtues," Dean interrupted.

Jewel nodded. "Yeah. My mother gave it to me long time ago. Before she died. It is one of the material items in life that I would save in a fire if I had to. A special gift."

Dean looked at the bracelet. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry that her mom had died, that he had a mom, too. She died, too. Long time ago.

"What about you?" Jewel asked.

Dean looked at her confused. "What?"

"What would you save in fire?"

Dean's face flushed. Was this one of her insights, was she being clever with him, talking to him in riddles? Did she know about the fire? That he had already pulled things away from not one, but two fires? He blinked at her.

"You know, have you ever gotten a special gift from someone that you would save?"

_Oh._ Dean lifted his eyebrows at her in inverted V's. "Uh, my Dad gave me my car."

"Yeah, it's a freaking cool car. Saw Del Bert working on it today – wow!"

Dean smiled at the mention of his baby, he couldn't help it. "And, I guess that's about it… oh, my necklace." He held the amulet out from his neck, showing the silver to her. "Sam gave me this. When we were kids."

She leaned in, studying it with generous eyes. "Wow," she whispered. They sat back in their chairs and listened to the dissipating of the crowd outside. The lights were starting to disappear, people were going back to their houses.

"What about Sam?" she asked quietly. "You have your car and the necklace…"

Dean looked at her, crossed. _Yeah_, he thought, _I got my music, my guns, my pain in the ass little brother…"_

"What does Sam have that is his own?"

The question caught the older Winchester off guard. He had never thought of it like that before. Sam didn't have anything that belonged to him, nothing that was his. It had all been Dad's and now Dean's, handed down in the order of birth. Dean caught his breath and felt a pull inside, wanting to see Sam, wanting to be sure he was okay. Wanting to tell him he wasn't mad. He looked towards the door, wondering if he should continue to wait, maybe they had forgotten him. He rubbed his hands together and sighed. "Why do you live here?" he asked Jewel, leaving her questions unanswered, pushing them back to the base of his skull.

She chuckled a moment. "I live here because that's what you do when you're seventeen, knocked up and married. You don't have a mother, just a stubborn father and when he suggests you and your husband move with him to live on land that is free, well, free sounds pretty good when your young and stupid."

Dean smiled at her with his eyes. "You didn't see this coming, huh?"

"Can't use the sight on yourself. Goes bad every time. Trust me."

The door swung open and John Joe stepped out, eyeing Dean. He motioned him with his hand to follow. Dean stood up and nodded an appreciation to Jewel. "Bunking here tonight?"

She nodded, placing her tiny hand on her expanding belly.

"Guess I'll see you soon, then." He started to walk towards the doorway and then stopped. "By the way… who's your father?"

She turned to him and pointed at John Joe. Dean stole a look in his direction and grinned back to her.

"Hey, Dean," she called before the door shut. He stopped and waited. "Wiiteesuts raahn ricisik wiitA."

Dean eyes flashed open and closed. He turned and walked up to John Joe. "What language was she speaking?" he asked.

"It is the language of the Arikara. A dead language."

"The Kitsune spoke that to us," his thoughts speaking aloud.

John Joe nodded. "Yes. Well, she lived amongst us for years."

They stopped at the door frame and Dean looked inside, beyond John Joe's shoulder to the bed where his brother lie. He was sleeping, shoved over to his right side, propped up by pillows. His face was pale, pensive even with his eyes shut. His shirt was removed and in place he was wrapped in white gauze, circling his torso, tape crossing everywhere.

"You people are the most Goddamn stubborn boys I have ever met," Fish Sticks said to Dean, throwing a syringe on the counter. "I put another IV in him and gave his something to sleep. Fucking kid nearly ruptured that chest tube. The Kitsune got him good, I put forty-one stitches in his back. Took almost all the suture kits I have here."

Del Bert looked up at the elder hunter. "Did you get it?"

Dean's eyes buried into the big man, so much there, so much. "There was another one, a small one, maybe her baby." Silence engulfed them all. "Sam killed it, but she's still out there."

"Fuck me," Del Bert squawked. He reached his arms above his head and stretched. "I'm tired. Gotta get out of here."

Fish gripped the counter. "We all need sleep." He glanced over towards Dean. "Your brother wakes up, you put reigns on him. Stupid kid. He's gonna pay for it tomorrow." He shoved away from the table and walked out with Del Bert in tow.

Dean walked over and flopped into the chair next to Sam. He was spent, his body ached, his head was spinning. He looked at his brother, turned from the push of the pillows, his face looking so much younger than he was. Dean let out a sigh of relief. Sam.

_Don't get mad at me. Don't you do that. I had to. _

Dean rubbed his face with his hands. It seemed ages ago that they had that conversation and if Sam had been mad, he didn't showed it, never let Dean see. Frustrated, yes. Bewildered, yes. Concerned, yes. But not mad, not anger. It was very uncharacteristic of him, Sam always held the fast anger, turning it into something bigger, always the grudge holder. Dean, his anger came and went, hot and quick. But when Dean had made the deal, something in Sam had understood why his brother did it. And Dean knew Sam, better than anyone on the whole planet. And he couldn't stay mad at him now.

"Whipper, I'm gonna find a corner and try to sleep some," John Joe said from the door frame, he'd been quietly observing, his eyes soaking in the moment of silence between the two brothers.

Dean nodded, looking up, his eyes felt like they weighed fifty pounds. He gave the older man a flick of his hand as he started to roll out of the room. "Hey, John Joe, do you know what Jewel said to me back there?"

The bearded man stopped in the hallway, his blue eyes twinkling back towards Dean. "You have to save him."

**Translation:** _Inaani, ahtakoowaa suxtlt! _ Brothers, come play!

_ Kaawitahts inaani! _Youngest brother!

**A/N:** What do you think? Hope the length was okay, a little action, a little angst, a little blood. Hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading. Don't rest for too long, though, Chapter 5 will be up in a couple of days and there will be more of stuff previously mentioned!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter One

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews, it warms the heart! Warning: this is a long chapter, sorry about that, but there was lots to cover. The next chapter will also be a bit lengthy. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Five – Magnet and Steel**

_Oh, Jesus_. It was happening again. A horrible assault, a tango with the sandman. Sam could feel his side painfully stabbing him over and over as he took in breaths, the murky feeling of being between sleep and wake, not sure what was real and what was still a dream. He pressed his eyes shut, hard and then attempted to open them, they fluttered. It took him a moment to gain control of his lids and then his sight. Focusing seemed impossible, the room filtered in colors, the shapes were distorted and then he saw his brother. Dean was sitting on a big fluffy white bed, his profile only visible, his head was bopping to music. Sam watched intently, listening to his brother as he sang along with the lyrics.

"_Save me from this prison, Lord help me get away, cause only you can save me now from this misery_." Sam's eyes blinked. Dean didn't normally sing, didn't normally sing to Los Lonely Boys. "_Cause I've been locked up way too long in this crazy world, how far is heaven_."

Out of his periphery, Sam noticed the door creaked open and a head peeked in at his brother. Dark hair, big muscular guy. He said something to Dean that only his brother was suppose to hear. Dean stopped bouncing with the music and they both turned their heads simultaneously and looked at Sam. It was John.

Sam shut his eyes. _I'm dreaming, this is a dream. Not Dad. Not Dad. Shut your eyes, pick something else to dream about. Bunnies, lots of bunnies_. He kept his eyes closed for what seemed forever, afraid to try and open them again. But the light was teasing him on the other side and he was so thirsty. He needed something to stop this pain in his side and the ache in his back. He felt the give of his eyelids start to part and his orbs were exposed to the small room in tiny slits and then widening eyes. The room was darker than he thought it would be, dimly lit but harsh on the eyes. He looked around quietly, Dean wasn't there. That was odd. He really _felt_ like Dean had been there. He blinked and noticed that there was someone in the room, over in the corner, looking out the far window. Another local, he decided.

Sam cleared his throat. "Where's… my brother?" he stammered out.

The man turned from the window and looked at Sam. He started to slowly walk the distance to the bed Sam lay on, his face coming into focus as Sam's eyes adjusted. He smiled down at the young hunter as he reached to sit down at the end of the mattress. Sam took a breath in and held it. He stared back, his eyes full of wonder, excitement and fear. He felt his heart plunge into his chest as he regarded his father sitting next to him.

"Dad?" his voice leery, tired, youthful.

John nodded.

Sam felt confused, scared. "What are you doing here?"

John looked away for a moment and then back at his youngest son. His eyes were hollow, sunken, darker than Sam remembered them being. Even when they saw their father on the outside of Hell's gates, his eyes were still Dad's. These eyes, they were different. He swallowed, not saying anything to his boy.

Sam nodded. "You've come… to take Dean away. From me."

John didn't reply.

Sam huffed. He was angry. Angry at his father for what he knew he was going to do, angry that he refused to speak, angry that he was angry. "I'll fight you, Dad. I swear to God, I will fight you."

John nodded. "Good," he whispered. "I want you to fight."

Sam shook his head, turning it away. He closed his eyes again. _This isn't real, this is a nightmare_, he thought.

"He has to save you, Sam." His father's voice spoke louder, as if he were trying to break through the impalpable barrier in front of his eyelids.

Sam stole a glance. He was still sitting there. "No, this time I'm gonna save him. _I promised_."

John leaned towards his son, extending his hand. "I know." He reached out to Sam with his hand, as far as he could. "And if you don't save him, son, there will be no one left to save you." His black eyes bore through the younger man. "And you _have_ to be saved."

Sam looked at the hand. It was as he remembered, it was John's. Calloused, big, thick, stubbly nails. Sam reached his own hand out on top of the blankets, he could almost reach, touch his fingers, a little further and then - purchase.

"Come on, Sam."

He grabbed his father's hand and looked up at him, but John had disappeared. So had the hand. Sam delved into the covers again and again, grasping. It was just there, he had it, he had just touched it.

_Jesus, just wake up already!_

www

Dean had fallen asleep after much tussling and resistance from his body. He had paced the floors, turned the music on, played a game of solitaire with a deck three cards short, picked up the mess he had earlier created, and finally succumbed to sleep on the rickety chair near his brother.

"Dad?" Sam's voice woke him quickly, he blinked and sat up, leaning in towards his brother.

"No, Sam, it's Dean." His mouth turned up into a half wince, half smile.

"Doing here?"

Dean's eyes locked in on the younger man's face, it was tenacious, holding, not willing to let go to the darkness. "Yeah, I'm here," he responded.

"…take Dean away. From me."

_What the fuck?_ Dean's eyes pierced together, narrowing in the muddled words he was able to decipher from Sam. He reached over and shook Sam's shoulder lightly, calling him back from wherever he was that he feared his brother would be taken from him.

"I'll fight you, Dad."

Dean stopped shaking him. He shut his eyes. Dad and Sam fighting over the Stanford letter. Dad and Sam fighting over why Dad couldn't stay with them. Dad and Sam yelling before Dad made the deal. Dad and Sam. It always came back to their fight with one another. The man was dead and they were still at it. All Dean ever wanted was for it to just stop.

"I'm gonna save him. _I promised_."

Dean's eyes opened. Save him? What about Dean saving Sam? Saving him from the inevitable. He had to save, he couldn't kill him. He wouldn't kill him. How could you kill the only person in the world that mattered to you? How could you save him?

Sam's hand reached out along the blankets, his fingers stretching far into empty air. Dean jumped back at the action, not expecting his brother's hand to whiz by him. Sam's face had softened, his eyebrows were muffled, pointing up, he was reaching, searching… Dean moved his hand next to his brother's amongst the sheet and covers. He stretched out and let Sam's fingers touch his and then felt a pull inside when his brother fiercely laced his fingers within his.

"Come on, Sam." Dean was feeding, fostering his brother to the light.

Sam's face suddenly turned, crumpling, feeling the loss of something fresh. He took in a shaky breath and released Dean's hand, his own hand feverishly searching the blankets again for something he couldn't see.

"Jesus, just wake up already!" Dean yelled, his voice breaking with emotion from within.

www

The morning light had been a warm greeting to the hunters, embracing them a new day. The sun perched high in the sky, rays of soft heat filtered down onto the blanket of snow below. The village was full of energy, the locals making their way up the streets, shoveling snow from driveways, clearing the road as best as they could. There was chatter amongst all of them about the young Kitsune killed in the night, the weary brothers bunked at the clinic and the monster that someone still needed to defeat.

Dean had walked to the front deck of the clinic, watching and listening. He nodded when he caught whiff of a smile, he shook hands with those that approached him. His ears perked up, listening to the sounds coming from Del Bert's garage. Noises he had heard before, banging, welding, hammering. His baby. He looked down at his feet, wanting to walk the short distance to see how she was, but Fish Sticks was checking on Sam and his brother wasn't talking much this morning. He had only complained of a headache, felt like he had a hangover.

"How about your side?" Fish asked.

"Feels good," Sam lied.

Fish Sticks frowned at him. "Your back…"

"Feels good," Sam snapped.

The medic had given him two more Vicodin, even though Sam thought Tylenol would be satisfactory. Dean had walked back in after his walk to the porch, carrying an extra coffee with him. He brought it in and sat it next to the table near Sam, rolling it around the bed so his brother could reach it. Sam looked up with grateful eyes, taking the hot beverage in his hands and sipping it.

"What did you _do_ last night?" Fish asked from behind them. "Will yourself to get better?"

Sam tried to glance over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

Fish Sticks cut to glove off the end of the chest tube and held it up, it was virtually empty of fluid. "Hasn't leaked for over eight hours now," he announced.

Sam half smiled. "Can you take it out?" he made sure it was a question and not a demand like he had done with him before.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head at Sam. "Not yet, right?" he challenged the older man.

Fish lifted his eyebrows. "Well, optimally it's best to keep it in for a few more hours, but…"

"Take it out," Sam repeated, this time sounding more pressing.

Fish Sticks nodded his head. "Yeah, I think we would be okay. You want something through your IV first?"

Sam shook his head. "We can take that out, too."

"The chest tube… smarts quite a bit when they're removed and that's with one that was put in, you know, professionally."

Sam chuckled. "Believe me, this kind of a clinic is our kind of professional." He glimpsed up to Dean knowing his brother knew what he meant.

Dean sat down in the chair, putting his coffee next to Sam's. "Yeah, but usually we get a Veterinarian. The patient next to us is a dog or a horse." He smiled back, his eyes creasing on the sides said it all: _I'm not mad at ya_.

Fish had put on sterile gloves and got the suture removal kit opened and ready. He cleansed the puncture site and cut the stitches apart, feeling them give easily from the abuse they had already been put through. He grabbed the clamp and grappled the tube tightly. He angled his hands down and started to pull back, using his knees to lower himself down as the tube grasped a hold of tissues, trying to stay connected with Sam. The patient huffed a moment, feeling the tube tear inside of him. He locked his eyes with his older brother.

"Blow it out," Dean hushed. "Breathe, Sam."

_Breathe like me._

Fish glanced up. They had been there before, many times, he sensed. This was nothing new to these travelers. He continued to pull until the tip was out and Sam let out a deep breath. Fish Sticks reached up, grabbing the extra thread for the remaining stitches and tied them together, threading quickly around the puffy, red skin, closing up the hole.

"You still need to rest," he instructed as he applied 4x4 dressings to his side, taping it securely to the younger man's hot skin. "I don't want it to break back open and start leaking… or worse."

Sam nodded. It hurt, but he was so relieved to have it from his body, he decided he could handle the sharp ache. His hand reached back and felt the dressing pressing against him. It felt good. Now if only he could convince himself that of his back.

Dean sat down next to him, in the old chair. He set his coffee down on the table in front of them and spread his body out, his feet sliding under Sam's bed, his arms reaching up over his head, settling his head back to rest on his intertwined hands. He looked over at his brother and met his unrestrained eyes. It was a look he had seen before as though he could see in Dean all he fought hard to conceal from the outside world.

"What is it, Sam?" he asked, his voice surprised.

Sam shook his head. He smiled at Dean, there was so much to say, but the words wouldn't come out. What Sam wanted to say, he had never spoken to his brother. The only person he had ever said it to was dead, charred up on a ceiling, eyes looking down at him full of pain. The words they had spoke to one another gone in a fiery moment. Like it had never existed, maybe it hadn't, it felt like it hadn't. Three little words that escaped his lips to only one person and who he didn't think his brother had ever spoken them to. At least not since he was four.

"Go check on your car, man," Sam said.

They needed the break from one another and they both knew it, felt it. Dean looked away, breaking the gaze, the connection, the wordless bind that held them to one another. It had been a long time since they had been on a hunt where there was so much quiet and strain between them. One of them was usually yapping, the other bantering. But this time, Dean knew they were both on edge. They were both on missions to save the other, one brother thinking the other was more important and vice versa. It was a vicious cycle, neither of them wanting to let their guard down, not let the other one in. What would each brother do, what would they think if all the cards were laid on the table, they knew all the secrets, all the words unspoken, all the vulnerabilities. Parts of each of them ached for that release, that honesty. But neither was ready. It was done for a purpose: to protect. The problem was, neither knew who they were protecting, his brother or himself.

www

"Fish! Quick! Her water broke!"

Sam's eyes flew open from the commotion down the hall. He pushed himself up with his palms and rested a moment on his right side. Dean was already sitting up on the opposite bed, blinking, his legs swung around as he hopped off the mattress. It had been a quiet day, they thought, hoping that Jewel would get through one more night, Del Bert and John Joe thought the roads could be traveled on the next day. One more day, one more night. That was all she needed.

"Shit," Dean mumbled under his breath as he looked down the hallway from the small room. He watched as Diamond Dave's tattooed head swung around, his arm tightly wrapped around Jewel's waist as she was panting heavily. The larger man directed her into the other room and Fish Sticks appeared directly behind them. "How far apart are the contractions?" He was asking.

"Six, seven minutes." Dean heard Jewel puff. He looked down the small corridor and saw John Joe, standing off to the side, a dreadful look masking his face. Dean's mouth twitched from side to side.

And then the screech sounded, coming down the mountain with lightening speed. Never a breath taken, just the shriek of a child in terror gaining speed and volume, engulfing the village, filling the air in the clinic. The scream rolled down the hill with pure excitement, absolute vengeance and sheer yearning. Jewel doubled forward as she entered the room, a cry bellowing from deep inside her, the pains of the new trying to break free of the small compounds of her protective womb. She let a sob escape her followed by a heart wrenching, "Why?"

Dean turned from the hallway back into the clinic's small room. Sam was sitting on the side of the bed, his eyes intense, pinned on his brother. Dean gulped and turned to the weapons duffel. He pulled out their necessities all over again - rifle, machete, Bowie, .45, the sawed-off. He loaded the rifle and sawed-off with salt rounds and looked at Sam. His younger brother was staring back, waiting. Waiting for permission. Dean slid his eyes over to the medicine counter. "Fish keeps a bush knife in the second drawer. You take that and the Bowie, I'll take the machete."

Sam walked to the drawer and pulled the long black handle out, the silver on the other side showing it's age, but also it's savor. Sam met Dean's eyes. "You're better with the Bowie…" his voice was uneasy.

Dean shrugged, strapping the cold metal to himself, securing it from the front. "I don't think you're carrying anything on your back for awhile, Vanna."

Sam's eyes shifted down, he suddenly felt so stupid and thickheaded. Dean threw him a sweatshirt and his coat, ordering him to get dressed. Sam pulled the sweatshirt over his head and then slowly started with his right hand through the hole, he winced as his back throbbed in hot burning twinges. He grabbed the bottom of the thick material with his left hand, helping to pull the sweatshirt down. He felt hands reaching in the arm hole then, and fingers clutching his, pulling his hand out and then reaching for his left arm, pushing it through the other hole. Dean snatched the bottom of the sweatshirt roughly and pulled it down, dressing Sam like he had done a hundred times before. Sam looked at Dean, embarrassed by the task.

"Thanks," he swallowed. And then, he stammered, "I'm sorry… about last night, taking off…"

"Yeah, well, you should be." Dean came back sharply.

Sam heard the hurt in his brother's tone, felt the concern. He noticed the stinging in his eyes. He wanted to say more. But there was no time. Tippety-tap. Tippety-tap. Their heads whipped around to the window, their eyes meeting hers, she glared at them and then sped away. Dean looked back to his brother. "You stay close to me, I don't want to lose you out there."

Sam nodded. "You, too," he quailed as Dean helped him on with his coat. He felt Dean's hands rest on his shoulders for a moment and he squeezed. Sam glanced up and they held the second briefly. Heart to heart. Hunter to hunter. Soul to soul. Brother to brother.

Dean shook his head once and he pointed a cautionary finger at the younger man. "I mean it," he warned. "Don't go off. You stay with me."

Sam grinned. "I get it. You go, I go."

www

Racing out of the clinic doors, the boys had the very best intentions to do exactly that -stay together. They stepped out into the cold night air, Dean first, his eyes sweeping the landscape around him, the rifle tight in his grip, armed and ready. His body was solid, his feet moving swiftly through the newly dug out street, glimpsing quickly behind him at his purpose in life and then focusing forward to the job at hand. Sam followed in tow closely behind, his glock at his side, the bush knife in its sheath attached to his belt loop and the Bowie secured in his waistband. His body hit the crisp air of the night and he wavered a moment, the frigid breeze hitting his lungs like a punch in the gut. He felt his vision double for just a second and he forced himself to focus on his big brother, following his footsteps, keeping a safe distance between them but close enough that if he needed, his brother could catch him if he…

Dean signaled to Del Bert to go to the left and then to Donnie Lee and the stocky kid to go to the right. The group had assembled and delegated positions in the safety of the ice cream parlor before they headed out. Fish Sticks with Jewel preparing for birth, Diamond Dave at her side armed with a blade and John Joe covering the grocery area, clutching a large shiv. Protection from the inside out.

The shrill seemed to come from all directions, bouncing off the mountainous region around them. Dean pointed ahead to his brother, following a similar path that Sam had walked the night before. They moved easily through the packed snow on the surface of the street and after they trampled through the snow embankment they met the incline of the mountain. Dean slowed his pace down, Sam wordlessly grateful behind him. The brothers knew it was pointless to race up the hill, chasing the Kitsune. It would only weaken them faster, using precious energy when they both knew she was a hunter, too. But they had to get her away from the clinic, away from the new soul that could appear at any moment.

The stress from the vertical cant on Sam's legs started to surface throughout his body. His long legs dropping into the snow, forcing his body to climb ripped through his back, the stitches unforgiving. The further up they went, the harder it was to breathe, his lungs tightening, restricting, respiration turning to gasps and pants, shallow and hard. He glanced up to see Dean easing his way up the slope, his boots digging firmly into the snow. He was still within Sam's sight, his vision doubling from the pressure of the climb. Sam reached up with his hands, grabbing rocks and branches to help him, if he just kept his tempo, he could still make it, he could still fight. His footing slipped from underneath him and he felt the lower part of his body fall, he strengthened his grip on a jagged rock and felt his glove pull off as it caught, his hand reaching up to seize a branch, pulling it hard, thorns ripping from it's fragile leaves, scratching into Sam's open palm. He hissed loudly at the pain, the fresh blood oozing, heckling back to him.

Dean stopped climbing and looked down, eyeing his brother immediately. "Sam?"

Sam reached for his glove, angrily pulling it back on. "M'okay," he responded.

Dean watched as his brother continued to pull his body up the hill. "I'll give you a minute."

Sam looked back up. "No, I'm fine. Keep going, I'm right here." His lungs burned, the sweat rolled off his forehead, trickling down his chin, his eyes were glossy, his vision blurred. And he knew from his brother's perspective that he couldn't see any of it.

Dean turned and looked back up the incline. "Stay close," he ordered. "Holler if you need me." His knees bent and his legs hoisted him up, continuing the climb. Up. Up. Up.

Sam nodded. "'K." He tried again to pull his long frame up the gradient and felt the lower part of his body collapse into the snow. He pulled himself into a sitting position and sat his ass down on a large rock. He needed to rest. Just for one minute. He glanced up and saw Dean had vanished into the trees and brush ahead of him. Sam took in a breath and let it out. "Dean?" he called out. No reply.

"_Kootik asista!"_ The painful cry shot out above Dean's head and he braced the rifle in his hands, his eyes scanning the sparse trees, the rocks ahead of him. He saw nothing, but he could hear the clicking of her throat, trilling odd sounds together against her vocal cords, throwing her calls from one side of the mountain to the other.

Dean crept slowly, his head easing to the left and the right, staring ahead, noticing the wind slightly blow the brush about. _Shoot first, ask questions later_. He felt the metal resting heavily on his back, pressing against his shoulder blades. He crawled up the slope, reaching his hand out to move snowy thickets of a large tree out of his view and then his feet hit grass. He glimpsed up to see the slopes had a small clearing of snow and prairie grass, the rest of the icy mountain flanked in the background.

"Shit," he mumbled under his breath. There was no way he would be able to scale the rest of the rocky terrain. He looked behind him, not seeing his brother trailing after him, the ground disappearing into black. "Shit," he mouthed louder. He circled his body around, starting to climb back down the slope when he heard it.

_Thwump. Thwump_.

The Kitsune had frolicked onto the clearing, her body spinning with vengeful delight. Her form was very much human, her hair long and wispy, her eyes almond and dark, her skin ghostly white with knarled fingers. As she turned about, she carried with her a grand tail, striking it with merriment on snow and Earth under the midnight light.

_Thwump. Thwump_.

Dean turned, glaring at her, she met his eyes submerging him with her stare, she took him in, ministering his allure. She narrowed her orbs, her eyes constricting as his aura danced around his being. She smiled at what she saw.

Contradictory to his brother, the older man exhumed only one color: Brown. Warm hues of light and dark brown swirled around him, reddish brown, yellowish brown mixed in with the shades, melting against his skin. It was a color of nature, of a solid individual, loyal and strong, trusting… and isolated. She cooed towards the hunter and Dean felt frozen in her gaze, something inside of him seemed to thrust forward, escaping his body. She opened her mouth and sucked it in. It wasn't delicious like his brother's, it was bitter. Pain, his torments and tortures. She took a taste of it, her mouth glistening, her tongue pushing out, thick and red. As she moved the roughness over her lips, she lunged forward, her tongue thinning, her thighs fattening, skin turning to fur, fingers scorching back, dark claws shooting outward. The grotesque transformation knocked Dean's senses back to him, he quickly brought the rifle up, aimed and shot, the blast reverberating across the clearing and back.

The Kitsune rocketed towards him, the buck racing at her, grazing the underside of her stealth body as she leaped over it. This time, she was prepared, she wasn't going to take rock salt to the chest again. This time, she had plans. She was going to rape. Kill. Steal. First the brothers, then the baby.

The animal hit Dean from the front, pushing the hunter flat on his back into the snow. She bent down towards his chest, her teeth bared, saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth as she bit the strap from his front, the machete falling deep into the snow. Her paw came up and swiped at Dean's side, causing his body to instinctively roll away from her, leaving his blade buried in the cold white. She rode his tumbling body through the snow, never giving him a chance to regain himself. She pressed her great paw down on his back, nailing him helplessly to his stomach as his sides wiggled, struggling to shake her off. She pushed her weight on top of him, bringing all fours on top of his body. Dean turned his head, his right cheek sinking into the crunching snow, slivers of ice burning his face, slicing his skin like razors. He let out a desperate wail as she exhumed the air from his lungs. Her head falling back and releasing an amused roar to his cry, satisfaction mustering from deep inside as she began her justice.

She wasted no time. Her right hand flared, she hovered over the elder Winchester and lined her index claw, jagged and keen, towards the base of his neck. She slashed his skin deep, with surgical precision, ignoring him as he bucked his body under her, his growl low and feverish. She loved fear. Her insides lit up, creamed at the excitement erecting from her core.

His essence seeped out then, mixed in clouds and blood. Deep red bubbling at the surface and she bent her muzzle against the back of his neck, and lapped up the substance. Even in her animal form, the Kitsune's knees buckled and gave a little as she took in her first real taste. Protector, warrior. It was better than bitter. It was warm. The blood and mist combination resurfaced, and not wanting to spill a drop, she maneuvered her maw across the opening and sucked.

When the Kitsune had pinned him to his stomach, Dean's eyes shut tight, sweet lines formed around his lids, encasing them in a protective mass of wrinkles. The light the moon had provided him entering into the clearing now faded as he was plunged into darkness. His chest rose slowly, afflicted against the weight of the Kitsune. Her mighty paws felt like cinder blocks building momentum as she shifted on him. He wanted to shout, call for help but he could barely breathe.

_Dean… I can hardly… breathe._

His mind wandered to Sam. His brother, stuck down on the slopes of the snowy mountain - alone, cold, injured. Dean thought of him in the car, in the clinic. He was broken, shattered. Just as Dean was now.

He sensed the creature on the back of his hairline now, her nuzzle picking up his scent as she skimmed the area licking, lapping, thrusting with her tongue. Dean felt his skin crawl underneath the roughness, he opened his eyes and commanded his body to throw her off, but she planted all fours firmly on him. He could see out of his periphery, the creature above him, staring down at him, gleeful intention behind her murderous orbs. He saw her bend down and felt her come back to him and then a pain on the back of neck like someone was grabbing hold and squeezing his muscles. He let out a deep moan and shut his eyes again. His back arched in agony, his body racked in mourning. His head began to spin, shades of lights and colors dizzying him into oblivion. Dreams flashed under his lids, his mind recalling scrambled moments of his own history. Portraits, pictures, still lives. Creatures he'd killed, demons he'd sent to Hell, spirits he'd hunted. They swam in front of his fluttering lids, changing, morphing into people he'd saved, faces he knew, women he had been with, women he could have loved in another life. He tried to hold onto someone, anyone, to stop the twirling, the colors reeling. His mother was there, her blond hair twisting in his mind, she was smiling, her hand to her heart. His father was there, in the corner, standing tall and stoic. He wasn't spinning, though. He was solid.

"_Dad! Help me, Dad! Please!"_

John looked away. He didn't offer his hand. He just stood, watching the pictures slowly stream across Dean's vision. The colors spun and suddenly seemed to start to collect and rain down together, in hues of brown streaming down in front of Dean's face. Dark brown, light brown, rusty brown. Wonderful browns. He brought up invisible hands to try to hold on to the colors, the images, but he couldn't. They were being sucked away from him, taken away without his consent. Stolen.

He yelled out from his gut, screaming in his head, reaching into the brown river and the eyes that looked back at him were dark, brown, no, wait… they were blue, the ocean. They were Sam.

Breaching the clearing of grass and snow Sam Winchester stumbled into the moonlit area where the Kitsune stood, his older brother pinned beneath her. He startled her at first, she looked up hearing the man's clumsy footsteps and weakened legs stomping the snow from his heavy boots. She sprang to her hind legs, her mammoth tail unfolding behind her as she looked in his direction.

Sam's eyes adjusted quickly to the dark movements in front of him, he recognized the beast within seconds and he knew his brother in his heart. He shared a quick look with the creature as she smiled back. His aura radiated back to her, her eyes mesmerized by the brilliant colors, the beauty of this soul. Not bitter. Not warm. It was immaculate.

For a brief second the Kitsune forgot where she was, forgot about the brown she was devouring. She wanted the rainbow glaze that emulated from Sam, she needed the power of his soul. She had never experienced such dazzling light before. Narrowing her eyes at him, she snarled, her teeth coated in brown blush, ready to pounce from one brother to the other.

But Sam was prepared, too. He had plans of his own, too. Crucify.

He grabbed the Bowie by the hilt and flung it through the air, the silver pitching towards the animal and stabbing her deep in her breast bone. She screamed harshly, shrieking from the pain and poison of the blade spread through her body. She stumbled backwards, falling off the enslaved brother. Reaching up with her claws, she attempted to pull the knife from her body but to no avail. Sam's feet leaped towards the Kitsune, racing to her form as she spun rapidly from him and ran on all fours into the dark of the trees, the hilt of the blade still sticking out from under her.

Sam turned and retreated quickly back to Dean, sinking on his knees next to his brother. Dean's body was still. He was as she left him, on his stomach with his face turned, pressed into the snow. Sam reached out his gloved hands, trembling and placed them on his brother's back. He closed his eyes and felt the shallow lift of his chest and the release. _Thank God._ Sam's eyes focused to Dean's neck, the blood and clouds still pooling there, gently spilling now onto the white below.

"Oh, shit," Sam whispered. He looked down at his own body, thinking. Quickly he removed his coat and pulled his sweatshirt off his body, not even noticing the pain and burn from his own back. He reached up and ripped off portions of the gauze off his torso and packed it on the back of Dean's neck. He wrapped the extra around his throat, not too tight, but snug enough to do some damage control. Sam leaned over, taking this brother's arms in his hands and swung him over to his back. He knelt in and tapped Dean's cheeks. "Dean!" he demanded. "Dean, open your eyes." He waited a couple of seconds but his brother didn't respond. Sam sighed and looked to the left and right, checking behind him, looking for the Kitsune. He quickly pulled his clothes back on and then reached out, grabbing Dean with all his strength, pulling his body forward to lean on Sam's shoulder. "I guess," he panted, "I'm gonna have to carry something on my back after all." The young Winchester took breaths in and out and then hoisted his older brother up and over his arms, the front of this body dangling slightly over Sam's shoulders. Sam planted his feet in the snow and pushed hard, lifting the two of them in one shaky motion. He blinked fast, ignored the way his 6'4" frame seemed to tilt and sway and then started the descent.

If Sam had thought the climb up had just about killed him, he realized now coming down was going to bury them both. He watched the brush closely, his ears on high alert for any sign of the Kitsune. He adjusted his brother's body on his shoulder, taking the steps down the snow and rock slowly, one at a time. His long legs already weakened by illness and climbing up the mountain, he found himself losing his footing and sliding on ice. His rear-end plummeted to the rough terrain below, leaving bruises behind that he was sure he'd feel for a year. He listened as Dean would gasp, his breath shallow and Sam thought back to the car. _Breathe like me, Sam. Like me_. Sam wanted to soothe Dean, say the same things to him now, but the truth was, Sam's breathing wasn't much better. He wasn't in good shape and he knew it, but he pushed that back and focused on one thing: getting down the hill.

"_Breaking up or breaking through, Breaking something's all we ever do, Shoot straight, travel far, Stone crazy's all we ever are, But I don't care for lies, And I won't tell you twice, Because when all else fails, Dead men tell no tales._" Sam's head bopped to his own voice steady and strong but as his knees gave and his body fell, the words came out in whispers. "_Shooting up away and back, A bit of guts is all you lack, Far behind the stable door, I know you've met that horse before…_"

"_Kootik natihnaa!"_ Her voice hit his ears like razors, carving, dicing, splitting into his eardrum.

Sam froze mid step, his eyes sliding to the left and right. Nothing. He shifted Dean on his shoulders, he considered easing him down onto the snow below, but he was on top of a rock and there wasn't a decent place to set him down. He looked further down the slope and decided a couple more steps and he could get Dean down, and gather his bearings. He took one step and then another. The sweat that had been beading on his forehead and shoulders had saturated him, pouring off his body in glistening ponds.

He saw the hilt before he met her eyes, still stuck in her chest, she bucketed towards Sam, coming up from the left, claws scratching the rocks and ice. She shrilled at him, a child's cry of terror, he wanted to cover his ears, he would hear the scream forever. She leaped off a boulder, plummeting down to the brothers, her front claws sprung - a guaranteed hit.

Sam's arm, thickly shielded by his coat, came across his head, guarding himself, his body leaned to the right, protecting Dean and the Kitsune impacted him, clawing down his elbow, beefing red to her satisfaction. She moved quickly, no time to waste and turned back to the injured hunter, springing on her stodgy hind legs, her arm reaching back for her last attack, a strike to the heart.

Sam glared at her, his eyes full of ire, loyalty, veracity, love. The Kitsune caught his orbs gleaming and they glowed back to meet her horrendous existence, blinding all around her. Sam reached for his belt loop and pulled the long bush knife out of its sheath. He raised it wildly above his head and swung it with his entire body, parallel with his shoulders in one clean bloody swipe. Her eyes were still gazing at him as he cut through her tendons, her bones, her cartilage. Staring still as her head toppled into the air flipping, flopping and finally rolling onto the icy rocks below, staring back at the hunter.

Sam stayed for a second, windless by the site. Her body collapsed in a bloody mess, arms and legs, covered in fur falling onto one another in a twisted mangled mess that made his stomach want to heave. He took a step back and blindly placed the knife back into it's sheath. He took a breath and then another.

_Like me, Sam. Breathe like me_.

The younger brother's shoulder sagged and he quickly readjusted the flaccid weight there with a sharp wince. The pain from carrying his brother down the mount rushed his body, shooting throughout his tissues, daggers diving deep into his muscles.

"You okay, Dean?" He called out, reaching his left arm out and slightly shaking him. "We got her, okay? You're gonna be all right now."

There was no response, no movement from Dean's body and Sam swallowed the lump stuck in his throat, but it stayed there anyway.

He turned and focused on getting down the remainder of the slope when he heard the unmistaken sound of branches ruffling, twigs snapping in front of him. Sam reached for the bush knife and grabbed the black handle, ready to strike again as his sight landed on the young eyes of Donnie Lee and the stocky kid, plowing their way up the incline. Sam let out a great sigh and could feel hot relief pour over his body. The boys looked up to the hunter and his brother flung over his shoulder.

"What happened?" Donnie Lee asked, his light eyes wide with fear, his voice raspy from the cold.

Sam motioned to the creature with his head. "Kitsune."

The boys looked down at the muddled mass, blood still trickling from her severed body onto the white blanket underneath their feet.

"You got it!" the stocky kid was so excited, his double chin quivered.

"How much further down?" Sam asked, looking beyond the boys.

They both shook their heads towards him. "Not far." One of them replied

"We just started walking." The other one chimed in.

Sam shoved past the boys, he had to get his brother to Fish. "Gather up the remains, the bones. Build a fire and salt and burn her," he ordered the young Arikaras.

Donnie Lee and the stocky kid stepped aside and watched Sam as he descended the same path they had just traveled. They looked back up to the heap of the Kitsune and stared. Although her life force had been whacked away from her, it was then as Sam walked out of her sight that the boys noticed the light leave her eyes, leaving her looking... dead.

"Did he say we have to gather the bones?" the stocky kid spoke up first.

Donnie Lee nodded.

"Eww," They responded in unison.

www

Del Bert was running straight for Sam as he saw him exit the trees. The younger man was trying desperately to keep moving, keep his knees from sinking forward into the snow, willing himself to keep going. They met at the plowed embankment, Del on the newly dug out street, Sam on the other side, calf deep in snow. Del Bert held his big arms out to the hunter.

"Let me take him," he requested, his grand arms spread apart.

Sam felt the sting in his eyes, the pull in his back, the jerk in his heart. He took the moment to adjust Dean on his shoulder, grasping him tighter, his gloved fingers digging into his brother's coat. "No." His voice stern. "Just help me over this bank." He had gotten this far, no one was going to take his Dean from him until Sam said so. Sam started to lift his right leg, reaching his left hand out for Del Bert's shoulder. The Arikara immediately bent down, giving Sam as much support as he needed. He took in a large breath and made it to the road, his boots crunching the packed snow, nothing sinking beneath him. Sam was so cold and he knew that Dean had to be freezing. He reached up and grabbed Dean's legs, swinging them across his body, bringing his upper torso down and cradled him in his arms the rest of the way, through the street and up the stairs to the clinic. He only allowed himself one glance down at Dean's face, it looked artificial, pale under the moonlight, his eyes still closed, the gauze wrapped around his neck made him look like he was partially mummified.

The doors to the clinic opened from the inside and Sam stepped into the warmth with his arms full and his heart arduous. He looked over at John Joe, holding the door. The clinic was dimly lit, moans and screams filtering in through the other room. Jewel. The baby. Sam ignored it all for a moment and he focused on John Joe.

"Flick on the light in the grocery store," he ordered.

John Joe's eyebrows came together, a question visible on his face.

Sam motioned with his head. The motion caused his vision to spin, edges blurred and came back together again. "Go! Turn on the fucking light!"

The older man turned and went to the wall, flipping the light switch up, the harsh florescent lights glaring down on the other side of the room. Sam walked the border of where the light poured down, his head turning to the left towards the ice cream parlor's floor. He took a few steps forward and then stopped, turning his body slightly to the left and then the right. John Joe peered over at him, curious to this odd dance. He watched with interest as Sam finally seem to find what he was looking for: his shadow. Sam lifted his arms and watched as Dean's body shadowed on the floor, rocking in his arms, just as they did in real life. Sam let out a sigh, relief overwhelming him and then turned back to John Joe. "Open the door."

Sam could have beaten anyone in a race down the small corridor if it had been wide enough, but he had to turn his body sideways to have enough room for the himself and his brother to fit. He neared the first room and glanced inside, Jewel was still laboring, sweat pouring from her wrenched face, Fish staring into her legs, soothing her through her pains. Her eyes locked on Sam for a second and then swam down to the lifeless legs and arms he carried down the hallway. Sam kept his feet moving, kept walking by until he came to the second door and turned into the familiar small room. He lifted Dean onto the bed Sam had occupied and leaned over his brother.

"Dean," Sam pleaded, "Dean, open your eyes. Please."

Dean remained still, his eyes shut, his breaths shallow, his skin cold to the touch. Sam felt his body fall forward, his forehead resting on his brother's. His mind flashed images, Dean in his arms, the life leaving him again and again. _Dean. Dean_. It was all silent pleas, unheard prayers. Jokes an unforgiving trickster played to have fun at Sam's expense. Permanently etched in his mind, rewinding it and playing it back. Never to forget.

John Joe came in quickly, followed by Fish Sticks. Sam moved to the other side of the room and started stripping his clothes off – his gloves, his coat, his boots, all the way down to his underwear. He reached into his clothes duffel and snatched new jeans and a t-shirt, never removing his eyes from the medic assessing his brother.

"John Joe, you go back to Jewel. She's gonna deliver any moment." His eyes lifted to Sam. "What the hell happened?"

Sam swallowed. "Kitsune." It was all he could think of to say.

"What about the Kitsune?"

Sam nodded. "We killed it."

"Cheese and rice," John Joe whispered, a small smile forming on his face. Jewel cried out then and his head snapped to the door. "Do I have to deliver the baby?" his voice quivering.

Fish put a hand on the older man's shoulder. "She's a pro at this, Grandpa. All you have to do is put your hands out and catch him. Let me know when he gets here and I'll make sure he's breathing, okay? I'm just a couple of steps away." He waited and John Joe nodded, slowly walking out of the small room.

Fish turned to Sam, who was already at Dean's side, grasping his hand, trying to get his brother to open his eyes, squeeze his hand, give him something. Fish Sticks shook his head, odd to him the older brother was almost scared when the younger was laying there, nervous to even touch him, afraid one of them would shatter into a million pieces with the touch. But this one wouldn't leave his brother's side, would barely let anyone touch him but Sam. Fish reached up and started to remove the gauze from Dean's neck, glancing at Sam for approval first. "Hold him for me," he instructed Sam as he pushed Dean to his side. Sam engulfed Dean in his arms and pulled him towards him, letting Fish Sticks get a good look at the back of the neck. "He needs stitches," he stated.

"Do it quick," Sam interjected, "he can't lose anything else from that incision."

The medic grabbed at his sutures and opened the container, putting the gloves on, cleansing the area and started to stitch. "He moving?" he asked.

Sam glanced down at his brother's face and gave Fish a quick shake of his head, his face heating up from emotion.

"The Kitsune did this?" Fish asked, debriding the wound of snow and dirt. "Why would she cut him like this?"

"The soul is most powerful when it's sucked from the back of the neck, the blood and the essence. If they can, that's the way soul stealers prefer it. But it takes longer to ingest."

Fish Sticks raised his eyes to meet the young Winchester. "The things you boys know…" He moved as fast as he could, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes glancing up to Sam, watching the younger brother as he seemed to catch himself from falling backwards from time to time. He noticed the ease he used with Dean, how he didn't stop requesting Dean to open his eyes, the soft voice he used when he explained to his brother exactly what they were doing to him. The feeling that Sam needed to talk, needed it for himself, to steady his balance, keep himself harmonized. Fish finished the suturing and had Sam lay Dean back on the bed. "I need to put in an IV," he explained to Sam. "Try and get antibiotics in him and maybe something for pain."

Sam nodded, laying Dean gently on his backside. Fish had turned to the counter. "Shit, the IV kits are in the other room," he mumbled. He looked to Sam, his eyes sincere. "You want to grab them while I check his vital signs?"

Sam looked down at Dean and then to the Doc. "Where are they?"

"Far drawer to the right of the sink."

Sam gave Dean's hand a squeeze and he exited the room quickly, striding down the hallway and entering into the first room. Jewel lay on the table, her body thrashing to the left and right. Sam startled at the sight, sweat pouring off of her, her hair tangled in wetness. She had pulled all her clothes off and was covered by a saturated sheet, seeping water from the edges. Diamond Dave had his hands laced above his bald spot, not knowing what to do for her. John Joe tried to have her focus, focus on him. Jewel screamed as Sam entered the room, her eyes locking on him.

"You killed it?" She shouted to him. "Are you sure?"

His heart sunk. This whole time, she had been fighting her body, trying to keep the baby inside, buy him more time, keep him safe the only place she knew she could. She was riddled with pain, her body giving out from the hours of labor, wanting to succumb to the end. Sam nodded back quickly, showing her the heartfelt honesty she needed. "Yeah, it's not going to hurt your baby."

Jewel turned and looked down at her bulging belly, bringing her head up and her chin down, she bore down with all her strength, her face turning red instantly. Diamond Dave grabbed hold of her left leg, John Joe perched himself between her thighs, holding a white towel. He looked over at Sam, still standing in the doorway. "Snapper, grab her other leg and push it back," he directed.

Sam approached the new mother with caution, grabbing her right leg in his hands, he watched as Dave held her foot vertical and then pushed her leg back with the bulk of his weight. Sam mimicked the tattooed man and pushed back, trying to be somewhat delicate with the small woman. Jewel let out a moan that turned into a wail as her pelvis opened up from the pressure and she bit down, pushing until her face was siren red and shaking. Sam saw John Joe's hands come up and followed them until he saw the baby's head already crowning, the tissues of her vagina ripping slightly as the entire head introduced itself into the world, dark wet hair clumping together as the shoulders popped out, first the left, then the right, and the rest of his fat body finally slipped out. Jewel let out a short breath and then a laugh and then a breath again. John Joe nervously turned the baby over and cleared his mouth of the mucous pooling there and the little boy let out a great, hearty bellow. Sam felt his eyes sting and caught his breath. He watched as the older man passed the newborn over to Jewel and placed him on her stomach. She reached up and patted the baby's head, looking over to Diamond Dave who was blubbering, snot running down his nose.

Dave pushed his tear streaked up face to Sam. "You see that?"

Sam nodded.

"I saw a head and then feet." Dave whimpered, putting his fat lips to the baby's wet head.

Sam blinked. A new beginning. He and Dean had given them that, this beautiful moment and he lost himself in that consolation. New parents, a new family, a growing family. John and Mary had been there once. A long time ago. Before flames and demons waged war with them. Sam looked at John Joe, he was beaming, Jewel and Dave were kissing, the baby was squawking. It was so innocent, so pure, so perfect. It was all Sam could do to hold himself together.

"Sounds like he's got himself some lungs," Fish said from behind. He reached out a hand and laid it on Sam's shoulder. "Let me finish this. I'll grab the IV kit, you go back to your brother. He needs you."

Sam's eyes widened. "He's awake?"

Fish shook his head. "No, but he needs his family to bring him back from wherever he is."

Sam felt the squeeze on his shoulder from the medic. He turned back to Jewel's bed. This wasn't his family. These were just people, strangers. He and his brother had saved their lives. And now they weren't needed anymore.

Sam turned and walked back to the hallway, his legs moving in decisive steps, each one carried with it the one thing that Sam knew to be true. He had Dean and Dean had him. And without that, neither had anything.

**Translations:** _Kootik asista_ – Killer of my love

_Kootik natihnaa_ – Killer of my child

**Playlist:**The song Dean sings is _How Far is Heaven_ from Los Lonely Boys

The song Sam sings is _Dead Men Tell No Tales_ from Motorhead

**A/N:** Last chapter should be up in a couple of days, it is written, I just have to proof-read it. We'll see if the boys ever make it out of the snow and back on the road again! Thanks again for your reviews! Sorry it was so long!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Last chapter. Have to admit, it's a bit sad for me to post but we have to see how the story ends! Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews. I didn't think my heart could be touched by such great words. Here we go…

**Chapter Six – And My Brother**

Dean was so cold, his arms hugged around his chest, his flesh goose-pimply and raw. He sat in a corner, watching, looking into the dark. It was so black he couldn't see his own hand in front of him. He could feel a wall behind him, his back was leaning against it, but there was no door that he could see, no window that he could look out of. Pitch black. He was trapped. He was cold. He was alone. He could hear, though. He heard the lub-dub of his heart, rushing blood into his body, trying desperately to warm him up. He could hear the faint screams of the Kitsune, although something told him she was dead, the screeching seemed to linger in his perfect ears resonating her taunts, haunting him. Reminding him of why they were there in the first place: Vampires. _It's my fault._ He hung his head down, the cold blooded sucker flinging the wooden stake again and again into his brother replayed in his mind. He'd almost gotten Sam killed, almost lost him. It was a never-ending battle. Protect Sam. Save Sam. His job was hard, eating at him every day. He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on his hands. If he could only see his hands. But he couldn't, there was only the dark. The cold. There was no Sam. And if there was no Sam, Dean had no light, he had no warmth.

Fish Sticks came back in the small medical room to find Sam sitting in the rickety chair, clasping both his hands around his brother's. He intertwined his fingers and rubbed the top of his hand, talking to him, trying to ease his eyes open, begging him to squeeze his fingers, pleading for any sign that Dean was returning to him. Fish walked around the bed and turned on the overhead light so he could see the older hunter's veins better. He prepped the inner part of his elbow and stuck him, red flashing back to him right away.

"Well, that's a good sign," he said, not really meaning to say it out loud. He felt Sam's eyes on him and continued, "Good blood return, means he shouldn't be too dehydrated and since I don't have any fluids here to run through his IV, it's a good thing. I'm hoping he didn't lose too much blood from that… cut on his neck. This isn't a blood bank."

Fish had offered to fix up Sam's hand but the younger man refused. He could live with the ache for the time being. The old medic wanted to check the chest tube site but Sam's body tensed up, his hands pushing him away defensively. "It's fine." His voice stead-fast, stern. He was okay. No, he didn't want any of the Vicodin. He didn't need to sleep. He didn't need anything to be redressed. What he wanted was for his brother to open his God damn eyes, squeeze his hand, tell him to back off, tell him not to worry, he was fine. He was fine, he was fine.

Del Bert was walking into the room, Sam could hear his thick thighs rubbing together, his large boots hitting the vinyl as he made his way down the hall. He entered the small room, smiling. "Jesus, you boys, killing the Kitsunes. Jesus. Somebody send you down from Heaven?"

Sam looked away. _Heaven_. He stared at his brother. Sam was beginning to wonder if either of them would ever get to see the other side, see the good in the after life. Heaven was a tricky word in their vocabulary, one neither brother new how to define. Sam tried to keep his faith alive, but lately, he seemed to be losing that battle. Having faith in something bigger than him only seemed possible in one person, he kept all his faith in...

"Snapper helped me with Jewel, we've got a great big boy," John Joe said, coming up behind Del, smacking him on the back.

The three men looked over to Sam, smiling, proud, ecstatically happy. They were so thankful, so grateful, it made him want to get sick. He wanted to scream, yell at all of them to get the Hell out. This wasn't a celebration. His brother was spiritless, lost in front of him and there was nothing he could say or do that was bringing him back to him. He tried to drown their voices out, tried to ignore the baby talk, the joy of being free of the Kitsune war, the drinks were on the house, they'd meet up in the ice cream parlor. He felt his face flush with anger, tried to focus on his brother, wanted to just tell them to _shut the fuck up…_

"He's not waking up." Fish's voice filtered in to Sam's ears although he was talking to the other men in a hushed tone. "We'll have to give it to tomorrow and see what he does."

Del Bert shook his head in the Winchester's direction. Sam's eyes glided out of the corner of his lids to land on the big man. "Shame. They came close to making it out. The kid woulda been happy to see his car. She's comin' along."

Sam glared at the big man. "What the hell are you talking about? He's just having a hard time waking up!" His voice was louder than he intended it to be, but his body was building with blind frustration. His brother was okay. He had to be okay. Didn't they understand that? Couldn't they see? Sam still had to save him and then Dean had to save Sam. It was a horrible circle of events, a circus act without a tightrope.

Del Bert looked at the other two and then answered. "Kid, we've seen this before. The Kitsune, she took his soul…"

"No, no, no," Sam shook his head violently. "He has his heart, it's pumping so he has a life force and I checked, he still has his shadow. If he would wake up, I know... I know he would know his name. I call his name now and I know he knows it." Sam stared at his brother. "It's just…" His voice broke for a second, feeling the stinging behind his eyes and then willing them quickly away. "It's just, he's lost his person, he can't find himself."

The three Arikara were staring at Sam in odd confusion. They looked from each other to Sam to Dean and then back at each other again.

"Boy, what are you talking about?" Del Bert stammered.

Sam looked up. "It's the five parts of the human soul," he said sedulous. "Dean just lost one part, but I don't know how to give it back to him, how to help him find it again. I don't know if he'll keep losing more or… I just don't know."

The air in the small room seem to fill with heaviness, waving through their breaths like a flag after battle. It was hard to breathe, hard to take in, hard to look at the fallen hunter. As if to try to make the younger brother feel better, Fish broke the leaden silence. "You stay there, Sam." It was the first time any of the Arikara had said either boys' names. "You just keep doing what you're doing and we'll wait and see what tomorrow brings."

Del Bert turned to John Joe. "Get you that beer now, huh?"

John Joe gave him a half-hearted smile. He felt the tug from Sam, the need to be with his brother, to keep his brother safe. He felt the guilt that coming to this village had snatched something away from them. Something vital. It was evil ground, all kinds of evils lived there, nested, made homes, started families, grew strong. Stole. Fish walked by reminding Sam to come and get him for anything, he'd stay in the clinic all night. But Sam was already aware of that, there was a new soul down the hall to look after that night, too. Fish would stay. John Joe took one more look before exiting. Sam caught his eye and they held the stare for a moment.

"Waasak in kuxis kosces RAhpiis." His eyes twinkled.

"What is that?" Sam asked.

"Spirit wounded, it can be healed." He replied and slipped out to leave the brothers alone.

www

"Dean." Sam had waited about an hour silently, wishing, hoping, praying. But Dean hadn't moved, save for eyes darting rapidly back and forth under his lids. Fish had been in, turned on the radio for the two men, noting that Sam hadn't slept, hadn't left his brother's side, still clutching his hand, still willing him to wake up.

Fish removed the stethoscope from his ears and met Sam's anxious look. The medic's eyes were sorrowful, dimly lit, not wanting to make contact with the younger Winchester. "I don't know, kid." He said shaking his head. "His blood pressure, it's low, his heart rate… it hasn't gotten higher than 46."

"He's okay, he's okay." Sam replied. He looked at his brother's face and pushed with everything in him to repeat the words, "He's okay." If he could just say it hard enough, if he believed loud enough he could make it true. Make himself believe it was real. He could believe it for both of them.

He heard the sigh from Fish Sticks, felt him turn to leave, then he hesitated, but Sam didn't dare look up to him, seeing the denial reflect back in the man. The medic didn't know his brother, he didn't know what Dean was capable of. Sam didn't even know all that Dean could handle and Sam held on to that. That was hope. Hope of the unknown.

5:30 a.m. It was too early or too late, it was still too difficult to tell when you're running on no sleep. Sam blinked hard, trying to motivate himself to stay awake. What if Dean woke up and he missed it? He couldn't have that. There was so much to say, so many words. Sam shifted in his seat and pulled the chair up as far as he could to the bed. He placed his right hand under Dean's inert palm and cupped it gently, he reached his left hand up and pushed Dean's limp hair off his forehead, spiking it between his fingers. His hand ached from the rocks it had slipped on, the thorny branches it had tangled with. The gashes were open, exposed and beefy. Sam could feel the heat radiate from the open sores. He was so tired, if he could just lay his head down for a couple of minutes. He softly rested his forehead down on his older brother's forearm and turned his neck until his ear made contact with Dean's inner elbow. _Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh_. Sam felt the rhythm of his brother's pulse s beating slowly on the inside of his elbow and almost automatically, he could feel the deceleration of his own heart rate. The younger man's left hand fell to his brother's shoulder, inadvertently coming into contact with the sticky residue left over from the Kitsune's attack. Dried blood and mist stained Dean's shoulder and Sam's injured hand seemed to sear to the skin upon contact. His eyes closed, the words playing from the small radio filled his thoughts…

_Hey Mr. Dreamseller, where have you been? Tell me have you dreams I can see? I came along, just to bring you this song. Can you spare one dream for me?_

Heat radiated under Sam's left hand and he felt Dean's shoulder react, it seemed to click in place in the curve of his palm. Sam took a deep breath and the world behind his lids started to spin, wonderful hues of brown raining down.

_Meet me on the corner where the lights are coming on, and I'll be there. I promise I'll be there. Down the empty streets we'll disappear until the dawn, if you have dreams enough to share._

And Sam was falling.

The brown swirled around him, tenderly creating a soft veil for him to ride, safely bringing him into the darkness below. There was black surrounding the walls, flanking the backdrop, his head swimming in the liquid browns that weaved in and out of the shadows, until he felt his legs hit solid ground and he bent his knees to regain his gait. He stopped for a moment and tried to see through the murkiness around him. It was as though he was a magician's assistant and was hiding under a velvet cover waiting to be revealed to an unsuspecting audience. Dark with light, brown with red, it was difficult to decipher, but Sam took a step, there seemed to be a light ahead of him. He felt his hands come up and push away invisible curtains, darkened cobwebs, clouding his vision, his judgment. The light got brighter, it was faint, muted by the blackness. He pushed himself forward. _Whoosh. Whoosh. _And felt his brother in his heart. He felt his footsteps quicken in his ears, his body pressing forward until he saw a ruined man. He sat in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms hugging them tight with his face hanging down, buried in his own skin.

Sam caught his breath. "Dean?"

There was no response from the suppressed man. Sam wanted to react, wanted to scream, wanted to race to him, pick him up, shake him. But that's not what Dean needed. Sam approached him slowly, crouching down on his back legs so he could be at eye level with him. He considered reaching out to him, but thought twice, sometimes touch was too much for Dean, too close. "Dean." It wasn't a question, it was a plea, a quiet prayer escaping to the air.

Dean's head slowly rose, looking out, he saw the black enveloping his body, his eyes, there was something off, something wrong, his eyes… they couldn't see. He thought he had heard something, something familiar.

"Dean." Sam's voice deepened, directed. "Open your eyes."

Dean frowned. Was it really that simple? His eyes were just closed? He flittered his lashes, he could feel them against his cheeks, he felt the slits of his lids give and his eyes sluggishly opened, tints of black and gray spinning. He tried with despair to focus, tried to see his brother he knew, he felt, was right in front of him.

Sam looked across from him, the shroud of black seemed to lift and his brother's face came into his line of sight. Dean was looking ahead, his eyes sliding to the left and right, trying, narrowing in each direction, trying to find his brother's force. Sam's head cocked to the side, he watched his brother, alarmed at what he saw staring back. Dean's face was sunken, pale with traces of blood spattered on his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. His eyes were liquid black, darker than the night, darker than the cage they were currently trapped in. He looked down and saw Dean's arms, his body, sores open and bleeding from his own fingernails, scratching his skin raw and bloody. Trapped in his own Hell.

Sam looked back up and Dean's eyes were locked on him. He looked straight through Sam's blue-green orbs, confusion seemed to melt away from his face and he gave his brother a small, half-wicked smile. "Sam." His voice jarring and rough sent a quick chill down Sam's spine.

Sam nodded. He remembered his Dad coming to him in his dream, different. His eyes hadn't been his, his voice was foreign, but this was Dean. It was still his brother, he was just lost. And Sam felt him. He knew. He could help him be found again.

"I'm here, Dean."

Dean's face softened, relaxed in front of Sam. So much he wanted to say, but the words were stuck. Dean's throat moved up and down, pushing his emotion away, far from where Sam could see. "How? How are you here?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know," he answered truthfully.

"I'm dreaming," Dean responded, abated, disappointment tumbling through.

Sam shook his head, treading carefully, quietly. "No, Dean. I don't know how, but I'm here. It's not a dream. I'm really _here_." He looked down and after a pause he asked, "Dean, do you know where we are?"

Dean looked around again, trying to see his surroundings. Trying to force himself to make out images, see anything but black. He looked back at his baby brother and his dark eyes seemed to fill. "In the dark."

Sam felt his eyes burn, his hands rubbed down his face, smoothing out the worry lines he knew were present. "I can see some light in here. You don't see it? To the left? Behind me?"

Dean looked in the direction Sam was speaking of, he could see colors swarming, dark brown, charcoal. No light. He shook his head, looking back towards Sam.

"Okay. But you can see me, right?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah."

"Good. Then you must be able to see some light from somewhere."

Dean looked again. It was so hard to see in this place, it was so thick. He could see light, but it seemed to come from Sam, the source was his brother. "I just see you," he answered.

Sam sighed heavily. "Look, I don't know how long this is going to last, but Dean, out there, in the real world, you aren't waking up and I don't know how to help you."

Dean lifted his eyebrows into inverted V's, it gave Sam comfort to see such a familiar gesture from his brother's distorted face. "Did you try slapping me?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I've tried lots of things. Slapping you didn't work."

Dean suddenly seemed to remember where they had been. "The Kit…the Kit Kat thing…"

"Killed it."

"You did?"

Sam nodded. "_We, _Dean. We killed it."

Dean nodded. "Good job, Sam." He took a breath. "I tried to fight her, but she… locked on me somehow."

"No, you did good. You fought her."

"I think she took part of me, maybe. I feel…different."

Sam carried those words, knew that was hard for his brother to admit and Sam was there, too. Always trying to be normal even when normal wasn't prevailing. Ignoring the differences, embracing the lies. "Okay, well, she's a soul stealer and you still have four components of your soul…"

"Which ones?"

Sam flicked his fingers. "Ib, sheut, ka, and now I know you know your name so you have ren."

Dean's head fell backwards. "So that leaves ba."

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He waited a moment for Dean and when there was no response, he lowered his body to the floor, sitting Indian style opposite of his big brother.

Dean looked back to him. "Ba. The person. The personality, right? What makes me… me."

"What makes you unique, how you perceive yourself…"

"She _took_ that?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, Dean. It's lost, though, somewhere, in here."

"In where?" Dean balked.

"Dean, I think we're, you know, in your head, your thoughts." Dean opened his mouth, but Sam stopped him. "I don't know how, but that's what it feels like."

Dean was silent. It was his greatest fear. Someone seeing his thoughts, someone seeing everything Dean kept secure. His secrets, his insecurities. He was vulnerable now and that scared him more than anything, more than selling his soul, more than the possibility of Hell.

"Great." His voice sarcastic.

"What?"

Dean just stared.

Sam looked down, he understood.

"We don't get to take a rollercoaster through your head, do we, Sam? I don't get to poke around trying to find you, what goes on inside of you. No, it has to be me. The stories of a soulless soldier."

Sam squinted. "You're not soulless…"

"And I'm not the one hiding things."

Sam eyes turned, glaring. "What are you talking about, man?" His voice alarmed, surprised.

Dean looked at him, liquid eyes seeing everything. "Lillith. Intestines on a stick."

"Dean…"

"What else, Sam? Visions? You're here with me, that's not… normal."

Sam looked away. "Maybe I'm not normal…"

"Yeah? Could have fooled me, this whole year I thought…"

"We all have our reasons."

"Secrets and lies, Sam. That's all it is."

"I never lied to you. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Not telling me something, especially something this important, isn't exactly being truthful, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "Look, I don't even understand it myself, okay? But right now, we have to focus on getting you out of here. I'm sorry for not telling you about Ruby, about Lillith, whatever. But we aren't going to get past all this until you wake up out there."

Dean sighed, his head fell backwards again and he let out a nervous sigh.

"It's just me, man," Sam's tried. "I won't look if you don't want me to. I just," his voice broke for a second, "I need you back with me, Dean. I can't do this without you."

"Do what?"

Sam spread his arms out. "Do _this_. The job, our lives. I'm not okay without you, Dean." He waited for Dean to take that in, to give him permission, give him a sign that he was ready but Dean only looked forward, seeming to look through his brother. "You have to remember why you're alive, what makes you important in the world, why you want to be a part of it all."

Dean slowly nodded, the words sinking in. He closed his eyes and rolled his mind backwards, looking for something, a constant, something that kept him grounded, something that gave him purpose, gave him a reason to wake up every morning. There was only one thing he could think of, one thing he could always hold on to. Sam.

"Don't. Don't do that." Dean's eyes opened up at the sound of Sam's voice. His younger brother was staring at him, scolding him with his stare. "Don't make this about me. You need to find you, Dean."

Dean looked at his Sam, his brother and shook his head. How could he find himself when so much of him was Sam. He blinked his liquid eyes and dark tears streamed down his cheeks. Sam swallowed in response to his brother's pain, reflecting the feeling back to him.

"Dean Winchester is a hunter. He saves people, saves lives. He works hard, loves his job and doesn't get paid squat," Sam chuckled. "He's smart and he won't ever give up. Ever. He lives by his own code," Sam's chin quivered, "and he has integrity. More than me. He won't sell anyone down the river, he'd do anything for his family. He doesn't put blood on his hands that he can't wash off. He's made a difference in so many lives and so many people are grateful to him. But Dean Winchester, he never asks for anything in return. He's a great man, he's a great hero. He's my brother."

Dean stared back at Sam, the dark liquid from his eyes starting to lighten, graying, the tears changing, hints of silver glistening back. Dean swallowed hard, his brother's face shining brighter now, the dark seeming to lift, colors punching down from above, from the sides of his mind's eye. He nodded back.

"You gotta find it, Dean. You gotta find your core, what you are." Sam reached out with his left hand and placed it on Dean's knee and he was falling backwards again, spiraling through beautiful browns spinning around him, carrying him back to where he had came. Leaving his brother with words unsaid, needing to tell him he was his light. Without Dean, Sam would be consumed by the dark and then there would be no going back.

He opened his eyes, back in the safety net of the small room in the clinic. He lifted his head quickly and looked to his brother. Dean's eyes were still closed, fluttering aerobically back to him, his face seemed stressed, searching. Sam noticed his left hand had left his brother's shoulder and was resting on the pillow. He pressed it back on Dean's shoulder and leaned his head back down, closing his eyes. _Come on, come on_. But Sam stayed in the room, the sun starting to peek it's rays in through the window. Whatever it was, whatever connection they had held, Sam had lost it.

Fish Sticks had came in and checked Dean's vital signs again, noting they hadn't changed much since the last time, which wasn't good and it wasn't bad. Del Bert had been by, bringing Sam some coffee and then retreated to the garage at Sam's begging to work on the Impala. John Joe had sat with Dean for a few moments while Sam used the bathroom and cleaned up. He looked in the mirror, his was gravely, disheveled. He felt like shit. Jewel had stayed the night with the baby, the sweet coos and small cries trickling down the hallway to greet Sam's ears bitter-sweetly. He kept his vigil at his brother's side. The three Arikara men taking turns to check on them, none of them wanting to tell Sam that they'd seen this before, they'd seen men and women fall into combat with their own bodies and not ever wake up again. The Kitsune always took more than she stole.

"Fish!" Sam yelled from the chair.

Fish Sticks clamored down the hallway and appeared at the door frame, racing up to Dean's body as his body twitched in the small bed. Sam had his arms around his brother, pushing his rocking body back onto the table. John Joe followed through the door and ran to the bed, trying to catch Dean's legs from flying into the air. Fish came over and checked Dean's pupils, felt his pulse. The jostling started to slow and his body found rest. Sam pushed back, standing shocked, looking up to the medic.

Fish shook his head. "It was a seizure. His body… it's getting tired of fighting, tired of compensating for the pain…"

"No, Dean doesn't get tired of fighting," Sam squabbled back.

Fish Sticks' eyes plowed into the younger hunter. "Everyone gets tired of fighting when they aren't winning, Sam."

Sam sunk in the chair then, his arms falling loosely around his body, he was drained. His head was swimming, twirling with thoughts, prayers, his heart was pounding with emotions. "He's fighting," he stated, his voice cracking, "because he _is_ winning." Sam wouldn't give up, he wouldn't do that to Dean. Not to the one person in this world who ever believed in him. Believed he could be more than his predetermined devilish destiny.

The two older men shared glances with each other. They could feel the strength the young man had within him, the stubbornness he held onto. The faith he kept alive. It was pointless talking sense into the boy, he couldn't see the body in front of him withering away.

"If all you're going to do is just stand there, you can just get the hell out." Sam said, his eyes snaking over to the two astonished Arikara. They looked back, stunned, saddened.

"Snapper, I know he's breathing but he's coming to an end. We've watched it here before. You just have to see…"

"See what?"

John Joe took at step forward, his arms spread, showing he meant no harm. "See it's almost over."

Sam stared back at them. "Get out." It wasn't a request and they knew it.

John Joe lowered his voice like he was talking to a crazed animal. "I know he's your family," he took another step forward placing his hand on the footboard of the bed, "but you have to be realistic…"

"Don't fucking touch him." The younger Winchester's voice was daring, his eyes gunning down the older man.

"Sam."

Sam's head snapped over in his brother's direction, slits of green staring back at him, blinking slowly. Dean licked his dry lips, moving the muscles of his mouth, warming them up. "Play nice," he teased.

Sam wanted to speak, wanted to say something, wanted to scream "I told you so!" He wanted to jump up and down and yell. He could have danced, he could have done the salsa, the samba. But he was tired and his mind was beyond full capacity, his heart was broken, ripped apart and mended back together again, his back ached, his hand hurt, his lungs were still on fire, and his brother… his brother was there with him. Through it all. He felt the burn build fast behind his eyes and his hands came up to cup his face, shielding his pain from all in the room. A sob escaped him, hot tears trailing down his cheeks. He tried to breathe, tried to stop it, but it was racking his body, the pressure of this hunt coming to a head with one call of his name. He fell forward, hiding his face into the blankets on Dean's stomach, his arms falling forward, grasping at the covers underneath, fisting them tightly. Comforted in the only place he could find safety, peace.

Dean's felt his own chest tighten. He made eye contact with the two men still standing in the door frame. He didn't need to speak, his expression said it all. They removed themselves softly without a word. Dean pulled his right hand out of the blankets and put a warm palm on the top of Sam's head. He cleared his throat. "Sam. Stop it, Sam."

But Sam couldn't hear him. Dean had seen Sam cry, had been there to get him through the tears, watched as his brother had broken down before, but this, this was bawling, gut wrenching sobbing. And Dean wasn't exactly sure what he was suppose to do. He felt a hitch in his chest, felt his own eyes sting and was surprised by the salt betraying him as two silent tears inched down the side of his face, splashing onto the pillow below. He waited a few seconds for Sam to breathe, for Sam to catch himself, for him to quiet down. Dean grabbed a clump of the younger man's brown shaggy hair in his fist and playfully pulled them into tufts. "You're a fucking awesome brother, Sammy." His voice was ginger and cinnamon, sweet to Sam's ears.

Sam sat up, his face ruffled from the blankets, his hair flurry from Dean's grasp. He took in a deep breath, wiping the wetness from his cheeks. "I'm glad you're not lost anymore."

Dean nodded. His Sam, no matter what. He always wore his heart on his sleeve. "I'm glad you found me."

www

Two days. It had seemed forever to wait. Dean had been up walking, gaining his strength back. The injuries to his body had not been so much external, Fish had noted, but internally. The Kitsune had ravished him. He slept 18 hours the first day, Sam falling asleep quickly in the bed next to him. They had woken early the second day, around 4:00 a.m. and neither could go back to sleep. Their internal clock was off, day was night, night was unimaginably still. Del Bert had worked sleeplessly on the Impala, his son helping out, Billy Mac lending a hand. "It takes a village," he told Sam. Dean would want to be there, want to have his hands all over his baby, but he was still resting his body, recuperating, repairing his soul.

"Coffee. Lots of coffee." That was Dean's only request for food. Sam had brought him in donuts, eggs, ice cream and corn dogs. "Just coffee." He really wanted a cheeseburger, slathered in mayonnaise, topped with bacon and lettuce. He needed real food. Well, _their_ kind of real food. On the second night, Del had came in and promised the Impala would be able to drive the next morning, "She's still bashed up, but you'll be able to get her to Rapid City and have a real garage fix her up. I did the best I could, she'll get you on your way, though." The sun had came up both days, the snow was melting fast and there were patches of the actual street visible when Sam walked around town earlier in the day.

Jewel had came in, bringing with her the new baby. She looked oddly small to the boys, without her stomach guiding her way. She pulled the blankets down around the baby's face and the brothers smiled back.

"Cute little guy," Dean commented.

Sam gave her the characteristic, "Aw."

He was cute. He had short dark hair, almost like satin draping his head, which curled at the end, softening his neck. His nose was too big for his face and his eyes stared out, dark and full of light. Wondrous. It was amazing something so small could hold so much power to the evils of the world as well as to the good of the world. He looked at Jewel and cooed at her.

"Looks like Topaz will fit right in with the family," Sam observed, watching the two of them connect in ways he felt he never did with his own mother. He held an emptiness inside him from those missing memories. Missing touches only a mother can provide. A void he'd carry with him forever.

Jewel glanced up, branding her award winning smile, dimples and all. "I didn't name him Topaz," she announced. She looked back down at her little one. "I'm calling him Sam Dean."

Both Winchesters blinked back at her. One didn't know whether he should laugh, the other didn't know whether he should cry.

"Seriously?" Dean finally asked.

Jewel looked back and nodded. Pride filling her eyes, obliged to the men who saved her baby, saved her family. Helped them to be whole.

Dean looked at Sam and then back to Jewel, shrugging. "What's wrong with Dean Sam?"

She laughed. "Sam Dean sounds better," she simply replied. She locked eyes with Dean for a moment and he looked away, afraid of her eyes, frightened of what she may still see there or what she may have saw once but wasn't there anymore. It was still a puzzle for him, fitting the pieces back was hard enough without someone there watching it all unfold, scrutinizing. He glanced back and saw that Jewel had drifted back to the baby. She swayed with him letting the brothers join in a quiet moment with them. When she looked back up, there were tears in her eyes, she started to walk to the frame and stopped once more, her back to them, her chin tilted towards her shoulder. "Thank-you. Our whole town, we'll never forget you."

And the black night fell. It brought with it a starless sky, the howls of nearby coyotes, and the cold. The darkness fell on Dean like a suffocating blanket. He laid awake in his bed, listening to the outside, listening to the radio, listening to Sam in the other bed, talking about Rapid City and getting an internet connection, ideas he had on how to break the deal. He could hear Fish Sticks walking the hall, Jewel was still there with the baby. She said she wanted one more night just with the baby before she had to fight off five other kids for sleep, but Dean thought maybe she felt safe here for the time being. Sometimes what we imagine in our minds of what could have been is more frightening than the reality of it.

"_Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart. Never to part, baby of mine_."

Sam and Dean lay in the dark listening to Jewel's voice climb over the volume of the radio as she walked with Sam Dean, hushing him to sleep.

"Well, she shouldn't try out for American Idol," Dean quipped.

"Rejects show." Sam laughed. "The Kitsune could probably out sing her."

Dean listened as Jewel continued on, getting more quiet as the baby calmed down. "You still hear her screams?"

Sam nodded in the dark. "It's like my ears are ringing and…" he stopped.

"Yeah." Dean knew.

The baby let out a little cry and then seemed to hiccup and all was quiet, except the radio, which Dean complained about every chance he got. No Aerosmith, no Zeppelin. Nothing worth hearing.

"I helped her, you know, when she was giving birth to the baby," Sam said from the other side of the room.

Dean turned his head in his little brother's direction. "What?"

Sam glanced back. "You know, I held her leg. Saw the baby come out."

Dean smiled. "Was it all cottage-cheesy and gross?"

Sam was quiet.

"Oh, Jesus, what? It was a miracle?" Dean asked. Classic Sam.

Sam turned over on his side, facing his brother's bed. "Yeah, it was. It was… unbelievable."

"I've never seen that. I've never seen a baby be born." Dean responded.

"Yeah, well, chances are, that was my first and last time," Sam answered, his voice hollow. Empty. Sad.

They lay quiet again, absorbing the meaning behind the words. Neither knew what the future held, but right now, the way their lives were, the brothers knew that what lie in these beds could very well be the end of the Winchester line. They did not have a 9-5 job, they didn't have lives that guaranteed them home for dinner, they didn't have room in the Impala for a car seat.

"I remember when Mom and Dad brought you home from the hospital." Dean's voice suddenly floated across to Sam. He waited for Dean to continue, wanting Dean to continue. "I thought you would never get here, it seemed like Mom was pregnant forever. And then there you were. Mom came in the front door and she had you wrapped up in blankets and I wanted to hold you so bad. So they had me sit on the couch and propped me up with all these pillows and they put you in my arms and..." He stopped talking. Sam watched him as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in the shadows. "And you were really ugly." They both chuckled. "I mean it. You were bald and your head was ginormous. But you looked at me and I didn't care. You were my little brother. And I just felt, even then, like I was made to be your big brother."

Sam couldn't respond. He felt wetness fall quietly down his nose. He quickly bat it away, even though he knew Dean couldn't see him. There was still so much he wanted to say. Three months would never be long enough to say it all and he knew Dean would never allow him to say it anyway. He closed his eyes and images flashed in front of him, losing Dean again and again, the trickster laughing at Sam, egging him on, giving him a bizarro episode of _It's a_ _Wonderful Life_. Life without Dean. Life in the dark. He felt the walls closing in on him, it was hard to breathe, his heart picked up speed. It was wrong. He was wrong, something was not right if Dean wasn't there. Sam could feel it deep inside, building. He had to save Dean. If he didn't, no one would be left to save Sam. And Sam knew he had to be saved.

"Sam."

Sam's eyes flew open. He looked over at Dean, his face was turned towards him, their eyes locked.

"You still awake?" Dean gazed across the distance between the beds, seeing the shine from his brothers eyes, full, teary.

Sam could only nod.

Dean gulped. "I'm sorry that I never gave you anything. You know, there's nothing really in our lives that is yours."

"What?"

"I got the car, you have to listen my music... you gave me the necklace and you… I never gave you anything."

Sam's eyes pinned on him. _I got to go to college, get an education, have a normal life, fall in love, and even then I felt like I was made to be your big brother… _"Dude, you just did. You just gave me something. Just because you can't touch something doesn't mean it's not a gift."

Dean knew what he meant. He nodded in the dark, his brother holding his gaze. "Sam, when you were… when you were in my head, what did you see?" Dean held his breath. Secrets and lies. _There are just some things I have to keep to myself_. Dean sat on mounds upon mounds of shit he needed to keep buried, keep away from eyes that could read too much.

Sam thought back to his moments with the older hunter. He took in a breath. The black liquid eyes, the face, the blood… "Just you." _Just my big brother_.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I swear, I didn't go looking for anything. I was just there for you. I only saw you." Another tear slipped out, rolling quietly. "You did the rest."

Dean watched his face, saw the tears and felt his breath catch up to him. He turned his body in the bed and flung his arm over his eyes, hiding anything that might be there. "Okay." He paused a moment, letting the night sink in. Tomorrow they would leave, tomorrow they would put this hunt behind them. And start all over again. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I tell you you're a fucking awesome brother?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah, I think you might have mentioned that."

"Good. 'Cause I really wanted you to know."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Shaggy?"

Sam rolled over. "I just wanted…" No, that was wrong. He tried again, "I _want_ you to know…" he lost the words before he even thought them. They were gone.

Dean waited. "Good-night, Sam."

"G'Night."

www

The Impala was definitely not fixed, the front end was still smashed up, the hood had been pounded back down and smoothed out, the engine had been pulled back into shape, new parts aligning the front end, a new-used bumper, new-used radiator.

"You go to Mike's in Rapid City. Only about 25 miles to the East. He'll get her back to feeling like herself. She's a good old car. A real beauty." Del rubbed the top of Dean's baby affectionately.

The older Winchester couldn't complain, it was free. The town refused to charge them for anything. They had rid them of the evil Kitsunes and the Vampires down the road in less than a week and the town had a magic they never knew was there before restored back to them. Dean jotted down Sam's cell phone number incase they ever needed anything in the future. He had stopped giving his own cell number out, not knowing what the future held. John Joe's eyes twinkled back to him, his hand extended to both hunters. "Thanks, Whipper. Snapper." It was all he said, but his voice, his face spoke everything to them.

"Stevie Ray's got some food for ya." Del Bert announced.

The brothers looked up to see the stocky kid walk up, handing them a zip lock baggie with four corn dogs stuffed inside. Sam took them, grimacing a little. Dean looked at the kid, odd he had never caught his name before.

"Stevie Ray, huh?" Dean commented.

The stocky kid looked at him and smiled, toothlessly. "Yeah. After Stevie Ray Vaughn."

Fish Sticks handed them a bottle of Vicodin for pain and a bottle of Zithromax to keep the infection in check. "Just take the antibiotic for the next five days," he instructed. "And the rest, save for later, God knows with the two of you, one of you is gonna need it." He smiled at them. Dean grabbed the keys from his pocket, opening up the driver side door, Sam taking shotgun. They turned to nod a farewell to the town. "It really just the two of you?" Fish asked as they started to climb in.

Dean glanced over at Sam, his brother looking back. "Yeah," Sam answered. "And that's okay. It's enough." They held the stare, the connection. Dean smiled back.

Fish tapped the top of the Impala then and nodded back. "Safe travels." And the town gathered one by one and touched the top of the car, rubbing wishes to the brothers inside. Dean saluted two fingers, Sam nodded and the crowd dispersed behind the car, as the brothers settled into their home, felt the smell hit them, leather and fast food, guns and grease. They owned it, let the comfort take them. Just like they imagined most kids felt when they walked in their front doors to the smell of their Mom making cookies. This was their smell. The smell of boys.

Dean jingled the keys in his hands. He skimmed over across the seat and caught Sam looking out the window, his face anxious, apprehensive. Dean hesitated, thought about letting it go. Sam had his secrets, his demons… "What is it?" he asked.

Sam glimpsed over to his brother. He had the lump still caught in his throat, he felt like it had been there since the Kitsune. It clogged his wind-pipe, making it hard to breathe still, hard to talk. And there was still things he wanted to say, needed to say. He could say. He looked at Dean, his eyes strong, holding meaning deep behind them. "Dean, I..."

Dean sighed. He closed his eyes. His body slumped forward for a moment, he knew if he didn't let Sam get it out, it would just keep eating him, which meant he would keep bothering his older brother. He opened his lids and looked across the seat. "What?"

Sam swallowed hard, the lump moving down, he swallowed again. "I just, I need you to know…" he paused and then, without another thought, he blurted it out. "I don't hate you, man." A look of relief rushing over his face.

Dean broke into a grin. He put the keys in the ignition. "Good," he answered back. "'Cause I don't hate you, either." He turned the key and let the engine roar to life. "In fact, I kinda like you."

Sam let out a small laugh, his smile big, dimples galore. "I kinda like you, too."

It was as close as they would ever get. For now.

Dean pressed his foot on the accelerator. "Hear that, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I hear it."

Dean turned the knob of the volume control up. Head East blared from the speakers. He turned it up even more.

_I've been walking behind you, since you have been able to see. There's never been any reason for you to think about me. Save my life, I'm going down for the last time. Save my life, I'm going down for the last time._

"Hear that, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "Sounds good."

"Good?" Dean shook his head. "That's music!"

He threw the gear shift into drive and took his foot off the brake. "Giddy-up, Baby!" And the wheels spun in the snow, finding patches of cement underneath, the Impala purring to life, rumbling out of the small village, away from where evil nested, back on the road towards soul saving. The losing had been the easy part, a decision made without haste, the finding was going to take everything from them but if they succeeded, they could gain everything. Redemption. Salvation. Brotherhood.

**Translation:** _Waasak in kuxis kosces RAhpiis._ Spirit wounded, it can be healed.

**Play List:** _Meet Me on the Corner_ from Lindisfarne

_Baby Mine_ composed by Ned Washington and Frank Churchill

_There's Never Been Any Reason_ from Head East

**FYI: **It is said the soul has five components, they are:

Ib – heart

Sheut – shadow

Ren- name

Ba – individual person(ality)

Ka – life force

**Last A/N:**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Thank you again for all your great reviews, it totally makes me feel like I actually found a place out in cyberspace where I kind of belong. It is a fantastic feeling. Let me know what you think about the story, hopefully I wasn't too off the mark! Thanks so much!


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